A Series Of Late Requests
by panicpeachpit
Summary: Numerous one-shots. A place to write requests, old and new. Will write characters, rating and warnings - if necessary - before each one-shot begins. Long and short.
1. Anon: SickFic

_**Request:** Tumblr (Possibly for Bronny9 and their sister)._

 _ **Characters (in order of most featured):** Caleb Knight, Ethan Hardy, Robyn Miller, Max Walker, Charlie Fairhead._

 _ **Rating:** K._

 _ **Warnings:** Mention of vomit._

 _ **Prompt:** Caleb gets sick and Ethan has to look after him (taken more lightheartedly - if this isn't your thing, the next chapter is characteristically darker!)._

* * *

Two cups for two people. Only _one_ teabag.

Sacrifices must be made.

Ethan gives up the teabag for Cal begrudgingly. He doesn't _want_ to. He'd much prefer to have tea to coffee - the latter definitely isn't as loved by him as it used to be - but that'd mean running down to the little Tesco down the road. And it's much too early for that.

The task of making hot drinks begins. Ethan switches on the kettle, with over two cups worth of water in it. Then he prepares the cups in advance: two spoonfuls of sugar and a teabag in Cal's; barely enough coffee granules and sugar to be classed as coffee in his; and then the cartoon of milk is left on the side.

Ethan pouring the steaming water into the mugs when there's a noise from behind him. He turns, seeing his brother walking in the kitchen mid-yawn. He smiles at him.

"You look exhausted."

Cal drags out a stool from the breakfast bar. "Hmm, and you look awful. Who's the coffee for?"

"Thanks a bunch," Ethan says, tutting. "Coffee's mine. I gave up the last teabag for you, which I'm regretting."

Cal smiles tiredly as Ethan puts the tea mug in front of him with a clunk. "Cheers. God, giving me the last teabag... how kind."

"You wouldn't have made the same sacrifice," Ethan says knowingly.

"You don't know that."

Ethan laughs. "I do." He takes a sip of his coffee. It's predictably weak. "Ugh."

"Don't _pretend_ just to make me feel bad. Thought you liked coffee?"

"Only because it makes me feel alive if I haven't slept. You know, insomnia and all that," Ethan says. "I've found an alternative. Energy drinks."

Cal raises an eyebrow. "Or you could, like, sleep?"

"That's rich, coming from you," Ethan says, offended by the lack of sympathy but unsurprised by it. It's too early to be anything but apathetic. "You don't look like you've slept an hour last night."

Cal shrugs. He drinks about a third of his mug and then puts it down. "I'll have you know I slept like a baby."

Ethan doesn't believe a single word of that. If the pale mask upon Cal's face is anything to go by, Cal didn't sleep at all. His eyes are reddened, shadows under them, and his hair is flattened. There's a red tinge on his cheeks and on the very tip of his nose. He doesn't look very well at all.

"Better get ready," Cal says. He pushes his tea away and then wipes his nose noisily with his hand. "Have you seen my jacket?" And then he sneezes as well.

Ethan groans instead of replying. _Called it._ He props his chin up with his hand and lets his face slip into moodiness.

"What?"

"You're ill, aren't you?" Ethan says miserably. "Great. The entire department is going to hate us both when we're both inevitably infected with it."

Cal's face goes stern in defiance. "I'm not ill."

"Really?" Ethan walks to one of the highest cupboards and hops to get the thermometer down. He'd been keeping it close, as the months are getting progressively colder - which means that getting ill is inevitable, especially with Cal's stupid habit of forgetting to wear a coat before venturing outside. "Let me check your temperature, then."

Cal begins to back away. He laughs nervously. "Ah, no, thanks."

"It's not a rectal thermometer, Cal, I'm not that mean. Just let me check. You look ill."

He shakes his head. "Nah."

Ethan breaks into a run but Cal is faster. He's locked himself in the bathroom, laughing. Ethan bangs at the door. "So childish! Let me check, Cal! You're not going to work if you're ill."

"You're not the boss of me!"

Ethan rests his forehead against the door, ready to crawl into bed and just... give in. Cal has never been easy when unwell. And Ethan knows he's unwell, because when is he ever wrong about anything medical? Barely ever. "Just come out."

"Fine, I'll come out," Cal says. He sounds too eager to leave the haven of the bathroom for Ethan to believe him. He was right to be sceptical. "I'm straight."

"You're not funny," Ethan says moodily. "I mean come out of the bathroom, not come out like- Ugh. Alright, if you're not at least going to let me check you're not _dying_ , please let me in anyway. I really need a wee."

Cal laughs from in there. Ethan can hear him cracking the hair gel container open. "Sucks to be you. I'll be a long time yet."

Ethan groans, pressed against the door. If this morning is anything to go by, it's going to be a long day.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cal isn't entirely sure if he _is_ okay or not, but he'd do anything to prove Ethan wrong. So, for today, he's perfectly fine. He keeps this facade up and acts like he doesn't need the pack of tissues or cough sweets when he's given them - "Ethan, you're actually delusional: I've never been less ill in my life." - but he knows, deep down, they're necessary.

They walk alongside eachother into work. Ethan, trudging behind him, and Cal, bounding along, pretending to be full of the joys of spring. It's December. It's far from spring. And Cal is far from joyful but Ethan doesn't need to know that.

"Smile any more and you'll rip your mouth," Ethan says moodily.

"I'll rip _your_ mouth."

"Rude." He says with a glare.

Cal turns, walking backwards through reception so he can get a proper look at his little brother's face. Well, his little ' _bothers_ ' face, more like - he's being the biggest _bother_ ever. "Aw, diddums. Is someone angry because they didn't get a shower this morning?"

"I'm not angry. Just annoyed that you never listen," Ethan says, refusing to meet Cal's eyes. "It'll be your downfall, you know. You need to be home in bed."

"As if," and with that, Cal happily bounds off. When he's out of sight, he lets his posture slump and drops that exhausting smile. Or grimace, should he say.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"And what's up with _you_ this morning?" Says Max, as Ethan dumps his paperwork down grumpily.

"Cal. When is it ever anything else?"

Max rests on the reception desk, deep in thought. "Hmm. Let me guess. Another argument?"

"That's not a guess, Max," Robyn says from a couple feet away, laughing. "That's always what's up. Fifty pounds bets it's about some girl."

Ethan is a couple more insults away from a childish pout. "I am here, you know. And it's actually not just a fight. I'm unhappy that he's ill and won't admit it, so," he picks up his paperwork, head held high. "Keep your money, you'll need it for medicine later when you catch what Cal has."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cal is actually going to _die_. He feels every footstep in his head. His heavy body, slumping along, each step feeling heavy, movements causing ripples in his brain. It aches. There's a hammer-like sensation up there. It's just not working right. None of his body is. Cal attempts to wipe his nose discreetly but the message about being 'discreet' is lost in translation. He ends up sneezing somehow - loudly - and scaring the shit out of everyone nearby.

Charlie stops by Cal. He pulls a tissue out of his pocket and then passes it to him wordlessly.

"Cheers, Charlie."

"No problem. You better not be contagious."

Cal forces a chuckle. "I'm not ill. I'm fine."

"And I'm Mrs Beachamp," says Charlie. He gives Cal a smile and heads off again, probably on his way to bother somebody else. Cal groans. Why doesn't anyone just believe him?

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Five minutes respite. That's all he needs, then he can keep at it. The throbbing of his head soothes a fraction as he rests his head on the dull white bed in the on-call room. It's soft like it's been stuffed with feathers. Cal turns onto his side and breathes out, appreciating being in bed now more than ever.

And then his phone buzzes. Twice. His head hurts.

 **Robyn:** _Your patient is spewing up. You're needed._

 **Robyn:** _Please try to avoid bringing your germs with you!_

If Cal had that sort of Godlike power to remove germs, he wouldn't have a cold in the first place. Which is all he has - a cold. The Sniffles. That's it.

 **Cal:** _On my way. Unfortunately, the ability to do that is beyond me but I'll try not to sneeze on you at the very least._

 **Cal:** _I'm still not ill though!_

 **Robyn:** _Good. And yeah, yeah, yeah._

Cal shoves his phone into his pocket and then tries to get up. The viciousness of putting his phone back, done out of pure spite at Robyn who can't actually see him, hasn't done him any favours whatsoever. By the time he's stood up - convincing himself that he isn't going to die, despite feeling like it, his head is spinning.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After he's sneezed all over a patient with a broken arm, he's banished to the staff room. He apologises quickly and follows Dylan's orders. Well, almost. He can see Ethan in there. God, he can almost imagine the conversation. Having to admit that Ethan was actually right leaves an awful taste in his mouth and makes him want to be sick.

Speaking of being sick.

Cal clamps a hand over his mouth. The Chinese he had yesterday is coming back up. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he'son his knees. It came on quick. And with it comes a horrendous headache, probably induced by the volume of his own retching. His knees are cold and numb by the time he can finally breathe again.

He feels awful - truly and absolutely. His eyes are watering and all he can smell is the gross scent of vomit. There's a ringing in his ear and a cold sheen of sweat across his forehead, lined like studying paper.

All he wishes for is a bed in a quiet room. And if the genie to grant that feels generous enough, he'll have a hot drink with a headache-relieving tablet too. His throat is croaky and sore. In a couple more sentences time, he'll be spluttering and coughing til his throat is bleeding.

Cal spits into the toilet. His mouth tastes awful. The hot drink better materializes quickly.

The worst of it isn't over. Cal's stomach heaves again and he's crouched over the bowl so strongly that his back aches, throwing up a whole weeks worth of meals. His eyes are watering by the time he's done. He feels worse at the knowledge that he'll probably be sick again. It'll be days before he even feels marginally better.

Cal wants to scream in utter frustration out but he has no energy. He blames his tears on his violent vomiting. They slip down his face alongside beads of sweat. He's sure he's never felt worse.

Before he can reach for a piece of scratchy toilet paper, a hand rests on his shoulder. He doesn't even flinch at the surprise at it. Another from behind him offers a softer tissue. Cal takes it. He wipes his mouth and then falls back into the person's arms, because he knows who it is. Who it always is. He'd pretend to be fine, despite falling into the person's arms, but there's obviously no point in it. They know. They've known all along.

"I feel sick," he mutters croakily. The arms wrap around him comfortingly.

"I know," Ethan says, his voice soft. He swipes another clean tissue against Cal's sweaty forehead. "Let's go home, yeah?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His bedroom is made into a palace for the contagious. The curtains are pulled, the only weak light coming from a lamp, and his bed has not one, but two duvets on it.

It's the sort of place Cal desperately needs after _that_ car ride home. Ethan had been thoughtfully silent, giving Cal a bucket (Cal had no idea where he got it from but he was glad he did) and no smug smiles, but Cal's stomach had hated him. He'd thrown up a few times but it was just bile. Ethan had tutted, not going as far as to tell him off about skipping breakfast, and said that he'd make Cal soup as soon as they got back. Cal hadn't said anything, pre-occupied to try falling asleep. It hadn't worked.

 _"I want to sleep!" Cal had whined._

 _Ethan actually sounded very sympathetic. "I know, I know. Almost back, Cal. Five more minutes and we'll be home."_

 _"But that's hours away!"_

 _Soft laughter, but not cruel, had escaped Ethan. He'd looked ashamed straight away. "Sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It's just..."_

 _Cal huffed. "What?"_

 _"Sweet. Somehow, you're sweet."_

Cal presently crawls into bed. He buries his head in his cushion. The room smells distinctly different - the admittedly delightful scent of cleanliness. Cal has no idea how Ethan managed to make the room smell like that but he's not complaining.

"Chicken or vegetable?"

Cal wrenches one eye open. Just one. He can't manage two. "Uh. Chicken. Cause vegetables can't cluck." Ethan looks confused. " _What_ , nibbles?"

"I didn't mean-" Ethan pauses to chuckle. "I meant what type of soup do you want, not what you prefer in general. Sorry, Cal. I forgot you had flu brain."

What? He's got the flu? Well, of course, actually. That makes sense. A cold has never made Cal feel so close to death before. He's got no doubt it's the flu and that Ethan's right. "Chicken."

"Thought so," Ethan says. He smiles at Cal and then heads off into the kitchen, whistling. Or attempting to, anyway. Ethan can't actually whistle that well.

Cal groans and turns over. He's not sure what he's groaning about because the heavenly softness of the bed makes him feel like he's been blessed. Perhaps it's because he still feels unwell - maybe worse than before. Progressively, this cold is finishing him off. His head still throbs. His stomach is still churning and he still can't smell anything (besides the cleanliness of the room, of course, but _barely_ ). Oh, he probably won't be able to taste his soup either. All he can taste is vomit - still, after many cups of water.

A small slither of light comes in through the curtains. Cal chooses to ignore it. The light then chooses to be a pain in the ass. It glares through Cal's closed eyes. He combats it by putting the duvet over his head. The world is engulfed in a welcome darkness. It's warm and stuffy in there, but he enjoys it. Cal curls up like a child and falls asleep.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He wakes up with a start about half an hour later.

"My patients!" Cal shouts, alarmed, a tuft of his hair sticking up. "Shit, my patients!"

He hears the sound of fast running footsteps. The door is pushed open and Ethan's there. He comes to Cal's side. "Hey, relax! They're fine."

"Who's taking care of them all?"

"We're lucky to have kind colleagues, Cal. Everyone was happy to help when I said that I _had_ to take you home, due to illness," Ethan says, smiling. "It was lovely. Well. It's lovely if you ignore the slight selfishness of it. They don't want to get ill too, so they were happy to send you home."

He breathes out. "Fine by me. Well, thank _God_."

"Look at you, praising God. Didn't have you down as religious," Ethan says, eyebrow raised. He offers Cal a tissue. Seconds after, Cal's nose is dripping. It's like Ethan's world is a couple seconds ahead of everyone else. Great at predicting.

"I'm not. I'm still angry at God. Why'd he even invent the flu?"

"Don't ask me," Ethan says, getting up. "Now, hush before you ruin any chances of getting into heaven - presuming heaven is a thing."

Cal slinks back into bed. "Alright. With how bad my head is throbbing, I'll probably die soon, so it's probably intelligent to keep quiet. I can feel death looming."

"Stop it, you," he says, hands on hips. "Is the headache hurting? Do you want some medicine for it?" Cal notices how Ethan is very suddenly starting to speak to him like _he's_ the older one. Obviously, Cal isn't acting as grown-up as he wants to.

"A bucket load, please." And there's a whine in his voice as well.

"I don't know about that, but I'll give you enough to feel better. I'll bring your soup and tea in here."

Cal doesn't have the energy to nod. He buries himself in the duvet as Ethan heads off. He gets a couple seconds of falling into dreamworld before Ethan shakes him awake again.

"Sorry, sorry," Ethan says. He gently pushes Cal's hair out of his face. "You need a haircut."

"Not today," Cal grumbles.

"No. No, not today," he says softly. He gives Cal a sympathetic smile. "Up you get, please. You sound croaky. Tea or water with the tablet?"

"Tea." Cal begins to prop himself up against the bed headboard. He takes the drink, murmuring a thank you, and then manages a couple sips. He just hopes that the tablet will soothe his headache quickly. "Ethan?"

Ethan sits next to Cal, resting against the headboard too. "Yeah?"

"Where'd you get the teabag from?"

Ethan laughs quietly as if to avoid Cal's headache flaring up even more. "Shop. I dashed down there whilst you were asleep. I didn't want to, though."

"Sorry. I forgot you'd have had to run down there, or I'd have said to not bother making a hot drink."

"You never actually asked for one. And I didn't mean it like that anyway, you got it wrong," Ethan says. "I meant that I didn't want to because... well, that'd mean leaving you, wouldn't it? Didn't particularly want to. Not when you've got a bad case of the flu."

Cal can't think of much to say to that. He's touched. He gives Ethan a little smile, which is returned shyly, and then tries another mouthful of tea. The hot liquid soothes his throat immensely.

"Nice?"

"Very nice. Thank you, nibbles." He says earnestly.

"It's just a cup of tea," Ethan says, smiling as he puts it on the side. "Soup now or later?"

"Late, sorry. Not sure if I can stomach it yet," he says with honestly. He doesn't particularly fancy spewing up again, especially when the room smells good for once. "And _you_ got it wrong this time."

"I got what wrong?"

"What I meant. I didn't mean thank you for the tea," Cal says. He looks away. "I meant thank you for, well, you know... I, I dunno." He plays with the edge of the duvet. Spit it out, Cal. "Thanks for not saying 'I told you so' and looking after me. It's nice."

Ethan places his hand on Cal's shoulder, going as far as to squeeze it softly. "It's my job."

Cal had expected that answer. He smiles, appreciating the patting that followed the shoulder squeeze, and watches Ethan as he stands up. "Hey, you don't have to go."

Ethan smiles. "If you want me to stay, say the words."

Cal swallows his pride. "I want you to stay."

Ethan sits back down. Cal rests his head on his shoulder, happy when Ethan leans into him. "Then of course I will."


	2. Bronny9: Nightmares

_**Request:**_ _Tumblr (Bronny9 and sister)_

 _ **Characters (in order of most featured):**_ _Caleb Knight, Ethan Hardy, (OC) Oscar Winters (and family)._

 _ **Rating:**_ _K+_

 _ **Warnings:**_ _Mention of death, bullying and nightmares._

 _ **Prompt:**_ _A patient of Cal's - who is bullying him - ends up dying. All the relatives blame him for the death. Afterwards, he has a bad nightmare about it so he goes into Ethan's room to ask if they could stay together tonight._

 _ **A/N:**_ _This is a long one oops but it's been quite a wait so :)_

 _"It's all your fault."_

 _Shaking. Crying. Guilt._

 _They all blame me. It's all down to me. I made a mistake._

 _"You're a bad doctor."_

 _"This will haunt you for the rest of your life, I promise you!"_

Cal begins to rouse. These memories, these voices, they're something that he just can't block out. It sounds like they're beside him. Around him is darkness and shadowy silhouettes. It takes a minute for it to register.

It was just a nightmare. They were voices from his head.

A wrinkly face suddenly comes in front of his. Then, face twisted with fury, it screams: _"You're a killer!"_

He wakes up fully.

There's sweat running down his back as he props himself up on his elbows, his t-shirt sticking to him. It takes a moment before he realizes he's crying too. Cal swipes the tears away viciously. Caleb Knight doesn't cry, he doesn't...

Well, he's a murderer, now. He's not the Cal he once was. Maybe this is the new him; trembly and crying and haunted.

 _"What sort of doctor are you?"_

Stop it. Shut up. He doesn't want to listen to these memories.

With a shaky hand, he switches the lamp on. The room floods with painful artificial light. He leans against the headboard, hand on his hammering chest, and looks about. With nightmares comes paranoia. He's terrified of blinking because there's fear in not seeing. There might be something hiding. Though it wouldn't be as terrifying as the day he's had - the day he can't stop replaying even in unconsciousness.

Just sleep, Cal tells himself, stop thinking about it.

He sinks back into his duvet, darkening the room again, and lets himself succumb to slumber. The moment his eyes close is the moment it all replays.

 _Earlier that day_

Cal was working in minors. Glumly, he sulked about the desk. A broken arm was his next case. Riveting.

"I still can't believe you get to work in Resus," Cal said to his passing brother. "You worked in it yesterday!"

"No, I didn't," Ethan said, on his way to where Cal would kill to be.

"Can we please swap? These patients are so boring! I'd rather chop of my _own_ arm than treat another broken one."

"No!" Ethan refused, passing by. "No chance."

"Resus is so much more interesting, please-"

"Just drop it!"

Cal muttered to himself about selfish brothers when he was gone - really, Ethan should know that Cal is built for the adrenaline and rush of Resus, anything else just wouldn't do. Fed up, he walked into the right cubicle.

The patient, Oscar Winters, was sat on the edge of the bed. He was in his early twenties, pale and clutching at his arm. It was obvious he didn't want to be there. Who would? He looked at Cal.

"Alright," Cal said. "How'd you manage that, then?"

Oscar doesn't look happy. "Why'd you care?"

Cal laughed. "I'm your doctor, I'm meant to care."

"As if."

Cal stopped laughing, becoming confused. "Sorry?"

"Bet you only care if it's life and death." Oscar looked bitter. "A broken arm, wow, how boring..."

"That wasn't personal. I was just having a laugh."

"But that's what you think, right?"

"Well, Resus is more entertaining," Cal said, being honest. "No offence, but a broken arm... bit of a bore."

Oscar scoffed. "I'm _sorry_ ," he was heavily sarcastic. "I'll go jump in front of a car for you, will that be more interesting?"

Cal held his hands up. "Quit while you're ahead. I'm sorry."

"If you don't care, what's the-"

"I do care. I want to make you better."

"Nah. I'm a waste of time to you. I won't bother sticking about. I'll go somewhere where someone gives a damn," Oscar got down from the bed. His face was in a stern line of defiance but his legs disagreed with being firm as they buckled. Cal threw his arms out and caught him, who looked drowsy.

"Hey, hey, sit back down," Cal pulled him back onto the bed. His forehead creased. "How did you break your arm, Oscar?"

It was starkly different to earlier as Oscar sat, unsure of what to say. He couldn't quite meet Cal's eye.

" _Oscar_."

"I was tree-climbing and I slipped." He spat. "Now shut the hell up and do your damn job."

The rude remark distracted Cal. Abuse from patients was an unfair reality of this job. But, nevertheless, Oscar's words felt like a kick in the gut. Cal forced a smile. "Well, as you asked so nicely."

Oscar sat silently whilst Cal did his ' _damn job_ ', eyes staring dead on ahead. He huffed when Cal took longer than five minutes.

"Hurry up, I've got places to be."

"Yeah, I know; X-ray. I'll get a porter to take you."

"Why can't you just do it? Or are you too good to be seen pushing a wheelchair?"

Cal tried to ignore the effect Oscar's words were beginning to have. "I do have other patients, you know. And it's what the porters are there for."

"Whatever." Oscar glared. "Go get a porter, then. Or do you need someone else to fetch them?"

"Try to show some respect, Oscar."

"You don't deserve to be respected."

"Wow." Cal shook his head. He began to laugh. "Don't know what I did to you, mate, but that's spiteful. Jesus. I'll get you a porter."

"Be quick about it," Oscar snapped. "Or will that mess up your hair?"

Cal left the cubicle, half laughing, half hurt from Oscar. He requested Max to take Oscar to X-ray then got on, blocking the nasty words from his mind. These spiteful comments were heard often enough but it didn't mean that he was fantastic at dealing with them. He supposed he took the bad with the good - and he had some good patients today.

Throughout the day, Cal kept himself busy. It was half an hour since he last saw Oscar and his day was looking up. Other patients, despite being admittedly boring, actually appreciated Cal's presence. They weren't rude or degrading. He diagnosed ailments and stitched and sutured and pushed bones back into place and plastered and worked until he was set to drop.

Half one was his break. Cal lingered outside of Resus, waiting for Ethan. They usually sat together. Cal would go on his phone whilst Ethan would rave about medical procedures. Usually, it bored Cal. Now, he found he was looking forward to listening.

A blood-splattered and stressed Ethan pushed through the Resus doors, shouted for Charlie, and barely noticed Cal.

"Ethan! It's way past our break."

"Your patient, Oscar Winters," Ethan said, out of breath. "He collapsed in X-ray."

Cal felt his stomach drop. "Uh, what? No, no, no," Cal could hardly catch his breath. "He was fine! It was a broken arm!"

Someone called for Ethan inside of Resus. "Sorry, Cal. I've got to go."

Cal caught the door and stormed in after Ethan. Despite the protests he got, Cal felt obligated to help. He saw Oscar less than an hour ago. He assumed that there was a hold up in X-ray, never did he expect this.

The flatline was ringing in Cal's ears. It was piercing. He wanted to help, but there was nothing to be done because everyone else was already in action. All he could do was stand and watch, and, eventually, that's all anyone could do.

Connie was doing compressions. They watched, helpless, for several rounds.

When she stood back, there was sweat on her face. "It's been 40 minutes." He knew what that meant.

Cal couldn't believe this. He'd seen Oscar before, so full of life! Barely any time later he was looking down at him, things couldn't be more different. Nobody could restart the day and do things differently. Bringing Oscar back to life was not an option.

"I think we have to call it." Connie said.

"No!" Cal said. "He was fine, he was alive, he... he can't die!"

Nobody was listening. Only Ethan, with sad eyes. But he couldn't do anything about it. Eventually, the flatline stopped as Oscar finally was put to rest.

Cal ran a hand through his hair, speechless in shock. Oscar was dead so suddenly. He felt his eyes prickle, so, before the tears could fall, he fled.

He felt like he was lying when he went to tell the family, saying that their Son was gone. He watched as they cried and how they shouted. It didn't feel real.

"What happened?" Cried Oscars Mother.

"He... he fell from a tree. Broken arm."

"But he's dead! A broken arm shouldn't kill someone!"

Cal didn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Winters."

"My wife is right," said Oscars Father. "A broken arm is no cause for death," he stared right into Cal's eyes. "You're a bad doctor if you can't even treat that." Then he wrapped his arm around his wife, comforting her.

Cal turned his attention elsewhere. Oscar's brother looked the spitting image of Oscar. He was called Oliver - brown hair, blue eyes spilling with tears. Cal felt his heart ache, somehow relating to this poor brotherless boy, and went to speak to him.

"It's all your fault," Oliver spat. Cal was taken aback. It was the first word he heard Oliver say. It rang about the relative room.

"No, no, it-"

"This will haunt you for the rest of your life, I promise you. My brothers' death is on your conscience."

Cal felt himself shudder. "It was a tragedy, I swear that I wasn't to blame. You can speak to my seniors, those who know the case better. They'll tell you the same."

"What, you're the doctor on this 'case' and you don't even know the proper reason for his death?" Oliver was furious. "What sort of doctor are you? Huh?" He let out a low laugh, tears shining. "Wait. You're not. You're a _killer_."

Later, Cal left work. He left early. His colleagues called after him, offering drinks, but he barely heard. All he could hear was the shouts, the accusations, the anger and heartbreak of Oscar's family. It repeated in his head. And it haunted him.

He avoided Ethan, locking his bedroom door. He ignored his phone. He switched off entirely. It hit him harder than any other case and Cal was powerless to bounce back from it because he knew, all too well, that it was entirely his fault.

 _Back to present time_

At 3:00 AM, Ethan is woken abruptly from a deep sleep. The light is switched on and there's a hand shaking his shoulder. The first thing he sees is light. The second thing he sees is Cal, standing above him, pale faced.

Ethan groans. "It's three, Cal. What is it?" His immediate prediction is that Cal is drunk. He usually likes to wake Ethan when he is - because if Cal can't sleep, nobody can. From second glances, Ethan realises that Cal's face is glittering with wet under his eyes and it barely takes a moment before it clicks. He's crying.

"I can't sleep," Cal says - ashamed. "Can I sleep in here with you?"

He blinks, shocked, but nods immediately. Cal is limp like a rag doll so it's easy to pull him into bed, getting out himself.

"You okay?"

Cal is quiet. "Bad dream."

"About yesterday?"

Cal nods weakly, pulling the duvet up. "About yesterday. A repeat of yesterday."

"Oh, Cal." Ethan sits on the end of the bed, dipping the mattress. "I'm sorry. Is there anything you need? A drink?"

Cal doesn't answer or look at Ethan as more tears fall into the pillow. He turns in bed, back to Ethan, and grips a pillow tightly. He shakes.

"Aw, don't, Cal, you'll make me cry..." he strokes Cal's shoulder, trying to soothe him. Cal only cries harder. The way it seems uncontrollable is frightening in the worst way.

He switches the light off and then sits by Cal again, who is curled on the bed. There are teardrops on the pillow. Ethan's eyes sting. Slowly, he pulls Cal over to him, putting Cal's head on his lap, and holds his hand as he cries.

Curled in the softness of the duvet, Cal looks up at him with watery eyes. Their hands are still holding.

Cal's voice is weak. "Ow."

"Are you hurt?"

Cal's hand ghosts to his chest. Ethan gets it.

"Just breathe. I know it hurts." He says sympathetically. It's hesitant but he asks anyway despite knowing the answer. "Are you alright, Cal?"

He swipes a hand under his nose, then slides it back into Ethan's. "Not really." He admits. "But at least I'm not on my own."

"You're never on your own," he says. Weakly, they smile at eachother. Ethan holds Cal's hand until he manages to nod off, his breath unsteady from the crying, and hums to him. It'll be awkward in the morning - because they're not children anymore. Crying in front of eachother is something they never do, not ever. But for now, in the time where the world is sleeping, nothing matters. Nothing but Cal. Ethan cradles his brother for hours on end, awake as the sun rises.

It's just gone seven. Cal stumbles into the kitchen after untangling himself from the bedsheets and finds Ethan sitting soberly over a bowl of cornflakes.

He clears his throat. Ethan drops his spoon onto the table with a loud clatter and looks up.

"Oh. You're awake."

"Observant," Cal says. He notices there's a bowl at the other side of the table, presumably for him.

Cal lets himself be guided to the chair, slumping into it, and manages a couple spoonfuls. Ethan finishes before him. They spend a couple minutes in silence.

After the morning brain fog has cleared, Cal notices that the time is ticking on. This is usually the time that he'd be shaken awake, coffee pushed into his hands, subjected to loud screeches of 'we're going to be late, hurry up, get up!'. There's usually the noise of jingling keys and rushing and quick coffee slurping but now there's nothing.

"Aren't we late for-"

"We're not working today," Ethan says. It's sudden. "Cal, can we talk about something?" He speaks as if he can't control the question from escaping.

Immediately, Cal feels a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"You had a rough day at work yesterday, didn't you?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"Yep."

Cal pushes his empty bowl away. "Bet you think I'm weak."

Ethan shakes his head, what Cal figured he'd do. "Actually, I think you're very strong. You had a tough case yesterday. Still, you soldiered on. You earnt your surname, that's what Connie said."

"I'm not much of a Knight, Ethan."

"You are. You're a good doctor too." Ethan pauses, looking at Cal, giving him one of those searching and concerned looks. Creased forehead. Then, he continues, almost as though he's reciting a mental script: " Nothing was your fault- you deserve all the best. It won't burden you forever."

Cal leans back into his seat. It all sounds rather familiar. Ethan is good but he's not _that_ good - he can't read Cal's mind so Cal figures he must've accidentally let Ethan in without meaning to. "Do I talk in my sleep or something?"

"You do." Ethan admits, then adds: "Was weird to see you so self-deprecaeting."

Cal just shrugs.

"Cal, it... it's worrying," Ethan says.

"No need to be worried," Cal stands, deciding to leave before the conversation takes an emotional tone. If his memory is right, he spent the majority of the early morning crying into Ethan's lap. That's not something he wants to repeat. "I'll, uh, get dressed. There's no milk in. I've got to go shopping."

"If you're trying to stop me from being concerned, you're doing a horrendous job. The Cal I know would never, ever offer to do the weekly shop."

"Well, the Cal you know probably wouldn't kill a patient either," Cal is snapping before he can help himself.

That definitely did no favours in reassuring Ethan. Anxiety wrinkles his forehead. It actually makes him step forward, throwing his arms around Cal; who is so exhausted that he actually hugs him back.

After that, they sit on the sofa together. There's silence. Cal hates it. He jogs his leg incessantly, hating the buildup to the conversation he knows is to come.

It'll be just like last night. Ethan, acting as though he's older, holding Cal in his arms, taking care him. Cal doesn't need taking care of. He's a grown-up now. He knows how to pay taxes - kind of - and he owns a car and a flat - again, kind of - so he shouldn't be treated like a child.

But, somehow, he feels little. He longs to be taken care of because nothing under his _own_ care is thriving. Oscar was under his care - he died. Cal suddenly feels the urge to curl into a ball and cry, but he has more stubborness in him than tears and refuses to do that so openly.

Ethan initiates it. Of course. Cal was still deep in thought about Oscar and everything else he'd ever done wrong.

"You had a nightmare about yesterday, didn't you? About Oscar."

Cal fidgets uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"You said that it was your fault. You were wrong, you know."

"I wasn't wrong. I could've saved him."

"If we could save everyone, don't you think we would?"

Cal feels his throat block. "I don't want to talk about this, Ethan."

"I know. I get it. But keeping it in your head won't fix anything."

"Nothing needs to be fixed."

"You had several nightmares last night, Cal," Ethan states. "Both before and after you came to my room, which, may I add, is nothing like you. You'd rather chew off your own _leg_ than do that which only proves how upset you are. You're barely being like you. At all. You were trembling and whimpering and crying and when you slept, you muttered. You called yourself useless. That everything was your fault, that you're a bad doctor..."

Cal stands. He feels it all catch up with him. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Then don't."

Ethan is behind him now, hand on Cal's shoulder. It's the tiny "please" that makes Cal relent.

He slumps back onto the sofa. When he does, he's pulled closer to Ethan and they sit, so close that Cal can hear his breathing. Ethan is gripping him tightly as if he's trying to hold him together.

"It was not your fault. People die."

Cal feels his eyes prickle.

"You're not a bad doctor. You're exceptional."

Cal wants to get up before the tears come, to hide, but he surprises himself. He slides closer to Ethan. Cal isn't sure that he's ever hugged his younger brother so much in his life. "It was a broken arm," Cal says quietly. "He shouldn't have died from a _broken arm_."

Cal expects anything but the silence he gets from that. It's sudden. Ethan doesn't say anything.

Silence. Then: "Oh."

That makes Cal's blood run cold.

"Ethan? Ethan, what-"

"I thought you knew, I thought you..." Ethan sighs. "It wasn't just a broken arm."

Cal sits up, wriggling out of Ethan's arms, bolt upright. "No. No, he said it was a broken arm, that's all that was wrong with him. He fell from a tree."

"Yeah, that's what he said. We didn't know what was wrong with him because he _lied_."

"What?"

Ethan nods. "He lied about how he obtained his injury. It wasn't from tree-climbing. He was in a car accident."

"I don't get it," there are so many unanswered questions. He can't word any of them. Eventually, he manages: "Why did he lie about how he got injured?"

"He didn't want his Dad to know. We found out, just after you left, that he'd crashed his Dad's car. Our theory is that he crashed the car - which he stole - by mistake, thought his injury was less serious than it was and kept it secret from everyone in case we told his Dad. He didn't know he was so injured. It was a head injury. Would've been picked up on if he would've had a head CT but there was no reason for that because we didn't know he'd hit it."

"So..."

"So." Ethan says. "It's a horrible tragedy but you are not to blame."

Cal refuses to believe it. "He was unsteady when he was in the cubicle. It could've been a sign of a head injury. I missed it, Ethan!"

"No, you didn't. Any doctor would've assumed that he was just weak from the accident. He was in pain from the broken arm, he hadn't been given any pain relief yet, I know that much, that was the assumption to make."

Cal sinks into the sofa. "So I couldn't have saved him?"

"There was no way. If you'd have known about the head injury, yes. But there was no way you would've known because he lied. Not even his family knew."

"But they know now?"

"Yeah. We worked it all out after you left and told them. They were all in a lot of pain but I think they felt guilty for giving you such a hard time." Ethan puts a hand on Cal's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wish I could've told you, but I assumed you knew, I don't... It was a mess. I just thought you were sad he died but I should've known."

Cal shakes his head numbly. Childishly, he turns to Ethan, saying quietly: "It wasn't my fault? I'm not a bad doctor?"

"You're not. Not at all."

Cal breathes out. It's trembly but it's a relief. He finally feels like he can breathe freely. The air isn't too thick, his throat isn't closed up. He can breathe. He can live.

"For what it's worth, I'm proud of you." That shocks him. "I heard from Max that Oscar was giving you a hard time before he died. You didn't retaliate. You were all grown up about it."

Cal realizes there's a smile tugging at his lips, and he lets it.

"You did well. I'm proud. And, uh," Ethan pauses, "I love you." There's a small silence whilst Cal is smiling uncontrollably. Ethan fixes the situation by pretending to gag.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that last bit."

"That's for the best," Ethan grins.

Cal nudges him. "Any chance we can forget last nights little fiasco too?"

"What fiasco?" And just like that, it's forgotten.

For the first time in 24 hours, it's _Cal_ who hooks an arm around Ethan, giving him a quick squeeze. They get on with their day after that; as if yesterday never happened.

 **InfinityAndOne:** _Aw thanks babe! Stubborn stubborn and STUBBORN Cal. It's good he finally did, yes! Thank you for your review!_

 **Guest:** _Sure, I can do that! I've got quite a few requests (old and new) but I've got some spare time this weekend so hopefully it'll be at least started. Good prompt, I hope you like it when it's eventually up!_

 **casualtyfics111:** _That's so lovely, thank you! I'll have a think of something regarding that pairing, thank you for your review!_

 **20BlueRoses:** _Honestly same! Aw thank you! I hope you enjoy other one-shots to come. Thank you for your review!_

 **CBloom2:** _I love it too, such a shame we can't see it in the actual show anymore - but saying that, there's always old eps! Glad to hear, thank you for your review!_

 **Bronny9:** _I do too, it's a sweet dynamic when the roles are reversed - thank you for your review!_

 **Bonnie Sveen Fan:** _Aw great! I'm working on it, as we've discussed the prompt and all, and of course I don't mind. Thank you for your review!_


	3. Casfics: Back From The Edge

**Request:** _PM (for Casfics)_

 **Characters (in order of most featured):** _Ethan Hardy, Alicia Munroe, Jacob Masters, Robyn Miller, Connie Beauchamp, Louise Tyler and Charlotte Miller-Thomas._

 **Rating:** _T._

 **Warnings:** _Mention of sexual assault, alcohol, violence and death._

 **Prompt:** _Ethan's POV concerning Alicia's upcoming trauma - will the news of Alicia's assault push him away or make him more protective? About learning to be emotionally and physically vulnerable again. Riddled with good and bad choices._

 **a/n:** _i hope the beginning metaphor isn't insensitive or 'glamorising' or anything of the like. I've spent a long time toying with it, careful, but you can guess what it's in reference to. that obviously this isn't a fic about someone playing a song she doesn't want - it's someone doing something bad without consent._

 **a/n 2:** _also this is HUGE i got so carried away but writing is Fun, originally wanted to make a chaptered fic for you but instead made this 6,000 words because What Is Concentration :D_

* * *

 **Back From The Edge**

 _Alicia likes music. It's something she enjoys. So this new song, playing in the bedroom of her home, was good. Alongside her handsome partner, she enjoyed it._

 _It builded up slowly. Gradually it rose as the butterflies did, high pitched piano chords lowering. The excitement and the rhythm in their veins seemed to be identical._

 _Then she said she didn't want the song to play on anymore. It just wasn't her taste. She didn't feel like listening to it. Maybe tomorrow._

 _But then he said he wanted the song to keep playing. Even if she didn't._

 _It got progressively worse. Unenjoyable. Grating. And then it began to crescendo. Her mind, once filled with symphonies, began to silence, instead filled with television static. It crackled. Paralysed, she laid and let it play._

 _She had to wait until the song was over. And ever since then, even the thought of that song reduces her to someone she doesn't recognise. Someone who was too scared to say no. Someone who was forced to sit through a song with her hands clamped over her ears._

 _And ever since then, she couldn't quite listen to music the same way._

* * *

 **Monday**

Alicia is glowing. The sort of joy that you can feel radiating off of a person. There's an unbudging smile on her lips, her hands intertwined with someone else's. Their hair is black. Their smile is matching hers.

Ethan watches the exchange. The night tries to swallow them up but they're still visible under an amber street lamp. Alicia presses a chaste, messy kiss to the man's lips, and he rests his hands on her hips. He drags her closer to him, so their bodies slam against eachother. They kiss again. Alicia pulls herself away but his hands keep going lower. They rest atop of the back of her thighs.

Then they keep walking, away from the pub they emerged from. It's actually less of walk as it's more alike to a stagger, alcohol controlling their movements. Though the man is more sober than her. His hands keep wandering.

Ethan's stomach turns as they keep going off into the dark. It doesn't feel right. These sorts of men are ones Ethan sees often. The ones who take anything, as if it's theirs, like they own it. Ladies men, like Cal, but not like Cal and not entirely human - those who don't require consent. Men who only have one desire. To get women into bed, no matter how. If they're willing. If they're not. In the distance, the man's hands keep wandering, and in Ethan's stomach, the bad feeling keeps intensifying.

The man turns his head. He looks at Ethan briefly and the expression on his face terrifies him. Toothy grin. Gleam in his eyes.

Ethan breathes out cigarette smoke as the man turns back. Creep.

"Bad habit."

Ethan turns to Jacob briefly. "Bad day," he looks back to the spot where Alicia and the man was. They've disappeared into the night. "Does Alicia have a boyfriend?"

"I don't think so, no."

The man is soon to be _just_ one-night stand then. It's not like you ever find true love during drunken flings. "I thought she was sworn off alcohol? Men?"

Shrug. Jacob takes the cigarette from his fingers, letting it fall to the floor and die as he stubs it out with his shoe.

"That was mine."

"It wasn't good for you," Jacob says, and Ethan figures he's speaking about something else too. "Sometimes it's good to let things go." Oh. Jacob thinks this is all just some ridiculous obsession over Alicia. That Ethan wants her, but no, he doesn't - all he wants is for her to be safe. Something is wrong. Something is wrong and he can't pinpoint it.

Ethan looks back at that same spot, longing to see the pair. But they don't appear. And he's taken inside by the arm to finish his night shift.

 **Tuesday**

Since stepping down as clinical lead, he's had slightly more time to play with. If he was still in control of this department, he'd have no way been able to get so much worrying done.

Alicia hasn't turned up for work today. The worrying in his stomach has intensified. He's spent today drifting between patients, scrawling messily on notes because he can't even make his hands focus. Nobody notices - it matches the stereotype of doctors handwriting, anyway, and he's been distant for a long time - and he's glad. This isn't something he can explain.

After lunch - which he did not manage to finish, because worrying makes an appetite disappear sometimes - he walks to his old office, knocks, and comes in without waiting for a reply. Connie has made it back to how it once was. Organized, clean and sweet smelling. The stale scent of coffee that he left has disappeared. He's been wiped clean of the place. Not even his spare pillow for impromptu, and desperately needed, naps have survived her spring clean.

"Consultant. Can diagnose a patient in the same time it takes most to make a sandwich. Previous clinical lead…" she pauses, "but still doesn't know how to wait until called into an office."

Ethan sits. The best way to deal with her sarcasm, he's learnt, is to deliver a comeback to it or to change the subject. He chooses the latter. "How's the first day back?"

"If you came in here for a friendly catch up, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you," she doesn't sound very apologetic at all. "I've got to sort out the mounds of paperwork your resigning left me with."

"Better than sitting at home watching daytime television, though." That's what he assumes she's been doing. Connie Beauchamp is remarkable, but everyone turns to that when they have nothing left to do.

"Only fractionally." It's confirmed. She _is_ human.

"Can I ask you something?"

"May," she corrects, and Ethan restrains the urge to do the teenagery action of rolling his eyes. "We're in a formal setting."

Best course of action is just to spit it out. "Connie, where's Alicia?"

There's something on her face. Her gaze avoids his, and she refrains from making any movement. "It's Mrs Beauchamp," she says, tight-lipped. "Alicia has had a family emergency, that's all."

The bad feeling he'd experienced Monday night wriggles in his stomach, making itself known like a parasite. "Will she be back today?" His heart is thumping louder than it should be.

"No. I've given her some time off."

Ethan scans her face. It doesn't seem right. He knows it isn't. It's that man, that's the problem. Did he do something? Ethan considers a possibility that he might've done, but decides it can't have happened. Not _that_. Never _that_. Alicia wasn't hurt in… that way.

But, despite his best efforts to convince himself, he's not believing any of it. "Please tell me what happened."

"Confidentiality. It'd be wrong."

"I'm her friend."

"I was under the impression you despised her. That she was an awful person?"

"We all make mistakes, and I don't forgive her for them, but I can't… I can't sit around and feign ignorance when I know something's happened to someone I used to love. Used to care about." He squeezes his fists into tight little balls to stop them from shaking. "Please. You know I'm not the sort to gossip. I just want to know if she's okay. That's my only intention."

Deliberation is evident in her mouth, twitching like she wants to speak.

"I can't," she says, and his heart sinks, "it'd be morally wrong. Now get back to work."

"Connie," he says, desperately, in a last ditch resort. " _Please_."

Maybe it's that which sways her. Maybe she thought he might cry if he didn't and wasn't keen on seeing that. Or maybe she realised that Alicia needs a friend. And Ethan needs to know so he can be that friend.

"Alicia has been assaulted. It happened last night."

His worst fears are confirmed. Ethan pushes out of the office and only just makes it to the staff room before he throws up the nothing in his stomach.

 **Wednesday**

It's a mental tug of war.

One side wants him to reach out. To call her, to tell her at the very least that he's on her side. Because he is.

The other side is telling him to just work, to chuck himself right into the deep end. She'll be okay.

Then the guilt assaults him, every time he thinks over the selfish choice he made to work today. Because he shouldn't be playing the dutiful doctor. He shouldn't be standing by a table, signing paperwork, or walking about cubicles, his footsteps echoing, or pressing a stethoscope to patient's chests and saying, yeah, you'll be okay. Everything will be fine. He should be saying that to someone else.

But it just isn't his place anymore.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Ethan sighs. He'd found peace in this staff room. "Not now, Jacob."

"Alright. Not now." Jacob says. "But whatever is eating you, you've got to sort it out. Patients can sense it."

"Like dogs?"

"Yeah, like dog-" Jacob notices the sarcasm too late. "God, get a coffee. You're unbearable."

Jacob sets off, tutting like he's hurt - when it'll take more than that to prick his thick skin, Ethan knows - but Ethan quickly stops him. "I'm sorry, don't go. It wasn't my intention to be mean."

"You weren't. Don't worry."

Ethan gives him a brief smile. "Good. I know you're just being nice."

Jacob pushes himself onto the stool beside Ethan. "So what's wrong, then?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Something about Alicia?" Ethan snaps his head round. "I just figured. Did you have another argument?"

"N-no."

"Good. From what I've heard, she doesn't need the stress." Jacob's face looks less bright.

"What've you heard?" Ethan is afraid of the answer despite it already being printed in his brain.

"I think you already know, don't you? You worked it out too. Or you were told."

Ethan can't lie to a colleague. Not with such an awful poker face. He nods, and Jacob nudges him with his shoulder.

"Be her friend."

"I don't know. It's not my place."

"You don't need to be there like a boyfriend. You need to be there as a friend."

"We're not even that, and-"

"Seriously, Ethan, don't. Stop making excuses." Jacob says. "She needs someone right now. Someone who cares. And you obviously still do."

He can't meet Jacob's eye. "How'd you work out that I care?"

"Because you're you, that's how I know."

Ethan looks at him this time. "You've changed your tune said that it was best to let some things go. Insinuating we weren't good for eachother, that it was toxic, and-"

"I wasn't, I was talking about the cigarette. You've been spending too much time with Connie. We don't all communicate using metaphors."

 **Thursday**

This news could've pushed Ethan from Alicia, or gotten him closer. He wants to get closer. If only she would let him. Numerous phone calls have been rejected, several fruitless attempts at conversation have been failures, and he's beginning to lose hope.

" _Hey, it's me. Again. I just want to check you're okay."_

" _Hi! It's Ethan! Call me!"_

" _I know we're not the best of friends, but return this call, please…"_

" _Look, I'll be honest - I found out, a-and I'm sorry. So sorry. Please let me know if you're okay."_

" _We don't have to talk about it, we can just talk in general. Come on. It's not good to be on your own. You told me that once."_

" _You okay? Hope you are."_

" _Alicia, hi- oh, sorry, I thought you picked up. Turns out I still can't work out what that little voicemail beep means. You'd think I could, because I've heard it enough times!"_

" _That last voicemail sounded aggressive. It wasn't meant to be aggressive. Ah, no..."_

" _Please call me."_

Ethan keeps thinking of what Cal would do. It's a habit he's acquired. He can no longer ask his brother for advice on sticky situations. So he gets into Cal's mindset, trying to work out what he'd say.

It's not _working_ today. Ethan walks around his flat a ridiculous amount of times, trying to get the answer, but it's not working. He can't think of the right thing to say.

He tries again. Voicemail. He says _hi, sorry I keep calling, and I understand now it's stupid to ask how you are, but can I come see you. Please._

Ethan waits for a reply. His stomach feels sick as he waits. Even the water he drinks, shaky hands grasping the cup, makes him feel unwell, like he's going to throw it up. He's shivering and cold and nervous.

His phone buzzes.

Ethan picks it up so quickly that he drops it. Luckily, no crack appears. Just a message, the one he'd been waiting for. A phone call would've been preferable. He just wants to hear her voice.

 _ **Alicia:**_ _Leave me alone, please._

He feels like a pathetic stalker, but he can't stop trying. The little green bubble appears near her name. She's still online. Ethan jumps at this.

 _ **Ethan:**_ _Sorry. Just wanted to speak with you._

 _ **Ethan:**_ _Are you alright?_

 _ **Alicia:**_ _You said it yourself that it was stupid to ask. No, I'm not._

 _ **Ethan:**_ _I am so sorry._

 _ **Alicia:**_ _Don't want sympathy. Just want to be alone._

The little green bubble disappears. She's offline. He waits, wishing she'd say more, but it's fruitless. He holds the phone to his chest and lays on the sofa.

"Wish you were here, Cal," he says in a mumble, and not for the first time. "You'd know what to do."

 **Friday**

She keeps pushing him away, but he refuses to let it phase him. He'd have spent the day trying to muster the courage to go to her home if he hadn't been called in on shift.

Three patients, simultaneously, alongside some difficult relatives that they brought with them, drained his energy from the get-go. He's exhausted. When he gets a spare moment, he leans against the wall in the hallway and checks his phone. No messages. Alicia is truly dedicated to this radio silence.

He's shoving his phone frustrately back into his pocket when he hears a low laugh.

"-beautiful lady like you, bet you're looking for someone."

"Sorry, but nurses aren't allowed relationships with patients…" Louise doesn't sound firm, she sounds smitten. Like she's smiling. Ethan peers his head and sees she is.

The man she's speaking to reaches forward, touching her cheek. "When's your shift over, gorgeous?"

"Soon," Louise says, her voice low and sultry.

"Nothing in the rulebook says you can't get with an ex patient when your shift is done, does it?"

"Well, no…"

"Then there's no problem. Pub?"

"Sure," Louise actually _giggles_. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. Bring that smile." He leans in, and he says something which makes Louise flush bright red. She looks at her shoes, smiling back up at him, and then he walks off with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Ethan comes out from the hallway, walking to where the exchange happened. The man gives him a horrible feeling. He has black hair. He's tall. Ethan knows that many have black hair and lots of men like to flirt, but it feels similar. The man was so keen to put his hands on her, so close to her personal bubble.

The man goes outside, so Ethan follows him. He feels crazy for doing this. Maybe he is crazy. But this isn't the worst thing he's ever done - which isn't much of a justification for listening in as this man speaks on the phone.

He uses gross language. _Effed_ , _made her scream_ , _yeah well what does it matter if she wanted it or not. I have needs_. _Uptight_ _slu-_ Ethan flinches violently at the words.

"Blonde little flirt. She wanted it, I know she did. Should've seen the way she was looking at me. Drunk as hell. Bad on her for acting like she didn't love it."

Ethan is shaking. He listens to the man laugh and chuckle, throaty and deep, and then hang up eventually. He goes back into the hospital and Ethan follows, fists shaking by his side.

 _It's you. It's all because of you._

Ethan gets close, walking up behind the man. He doesn't know what he's going to do. They're in the centre of cubicles now, at the Admin desk, and he still hasn't worked out what he is going to do. The man clicks his fingers at someone, asking when his girlfriend is going to be treated, and Ethan feels even worse because this monster has a girlfriend.

Before Ethan can say a word, the man catches on. He turns.

"Why are you doing? Have you been following me?" His voice booms, and people look. Then it clearly kicks in, because he mutters a shaky, "hang on," as he looks at Ethan, and he recognises him. Anger fades to fear.

Ethan knows. The man knows that _Ethan_ knows, that he witnessed the start of it - so he's scared. Scared of a consequence to his actions when he's so used to doing as he pleases, having intentions with women that are not honorable.

"How _dare_ you..."

The man takes a step back. Like he's fearful. He should be. It's laughable, actually. 6'4, pure muscle, quivering in fear despite being up against a five foot nothing skinny man who cares about the person this guy messed with. "Easy, mate. We've got an audience."

"That blows for you, doesn't it?"

Ethan wants to blurt to the world what this man did, before realizing how damn wrong that would be. Not for his sake. But for Alicia's. Many don't even know yet what happened. He cannot betray her that way. He can't let something so raw be told to everyone.

His hands are scrunched tightly, shaking, his fingers trembling and nails digging in. He looks at that man, the green eyes piercing into his brown ones, and feels anger. Rage.

 _How could you? How could you take something as if it belonged to you, as if it had your name on it? How could you take someone's trust and bend it with both hands? How could you be so selfish, motivated entirely by self interest, for something so pointless, something so despicable. Was it worth it? Was it really?_

 _You are a monster. You have hurt her. You have taken a beautiful girl and you have tried to ruin her and destroy her purely for your own gain, because she had something she wanted. You used her._

 _You make me sick._

 _Sick. Sick. Sick._

"Dr Hardy, what's going on?" That's Jacob. He's got Ethan's shoulder, right by his back.

Ethan clenches his fists harder. Like how Cal taught him, back when they were kids. _Violence isn't right, nibbles, but you've got to learn to protect yourself._ Then he steps forward, anger in his veins, and punches that man. That _monster_. People gasp. Some scream. Jacob drags him back, shouting, and Ethan knows he's in trouble.

The sudden commotion stirs Connie from her office. There's fury on her face as she comes out, hands on her hips, her voice booming.

His fist is throbbing. The man is _crying_ as if he's the victim in this equation rather than the perpetrator. His nose is disjointed and crimson. Ethan looks at his own hand, and it's bleeding too. He rubs it on his scrubs, hissing in pain, as he's pulled away. He's put into Connie's office with Jacob.

"What are you playing at? Weak people use their fists. Strong ones? They talk. They sort it." Jacob pushes Ethan back, closing the door to the office.

Ethan is crying before he realises it. People are looking in but he doesn't care. He collapses onto Connie's sofa, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

The door opens and slams again. Loud stilettos click on the floor, the ones she's so partial to. Abruptly, they stop, and he feels eyes on him.

He's passed a tissue. Jacob examines his hand and Connie leans against her desk, thinking and watching.

Eventually, she talks. "Why did you do it?" She's not as angry as he expected. "Did you even know him?"

"I…" he breathes in shakily. "I think he… Alicia."

Connie lowers her gaze, looking into his teary eyes. "Right. Tell me that without the crying."

Ethan would feel embarrassed; but he's nothing but upset with the adrenaline of left over anger causing his tears. "Alicia got hurt, didn't she, and I think he…" Ethan rests back into the sofa, unwilling to face them. "He was the one who did that. I know it. And he wants to do it to Louise too."

"Oh, no." Says Connie.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I just wanted him to hurt like he hurt her." Ethan admits tearfully. "Just wanted to help and there was no way of doing that because she won't let me, so I hurt him, but nothing changed."

"You've only punished yourself, Ethan. I'll have to suspend you. This will go on your record."

Ethan remembers seeing the man the first time. The messy kisses with Alicia, the wandering hands, the laughs that he couldn't quite hear. Toothy smile. Ethan sensed something was wrong then. Why didn't he stop it? Why didn't he rush forward and take Alicia somewhere away from him, to sober up, because something awful was going to happen!

"I don't care." Ethan mutters. "Maybe I deserve to be punished. I should've stopped her from going with him."

Jacob butts in. "Don't you dare. I was there, you know. And I didn't even sense anything was wrong."

Ethan shakes his head. He'll always carry this on his shoulders, he knows this. Same as he does many instances. He'll wear them like a backpack and it'll make his spine ache.

"Don't worry," Connie says. "We'll sort this out. There'll be justice, that I'm sure of."

 **Saturday**

Admittedly, his hand is throbbing. But if that'll stop him, he'll be damned.

"Merry Saturday, Caleb."

He takes a seat on the faded green, his jacket being a barrier between him and the morning dew. As always - and as it will _always_ be - there is no response from the gravestone in place of his brother. The flowers someone had left there are resting in front of him.

Tulips from Charlie, reading, _you're missed, more than you'll ever know._

Roses from Robyn, reading, _longing for your face back here._

Daffodils from Ethan - numerous bouquets. No personal messages written on the tag attached by a ribbon, he'd said them instead.

"Punched a guy again." Like now.

He can imagine Cal tutting. _Again, idiot? You need to control your fists._ Annoyed but sad. Because Ethan never was this way.

"I need you to restrain me," Ethan says with a lopsided smile. "Call it a late thank you for all the times I held you back. Johnny Sanders really got it that time. Wonder if he still remembers that punch? I bet he'll never bully any nerdy little boys again after the dressing down you gave him."

 _He better not_ , he imagines Cal saying, _I'd do it again in a heartbeat, you know. Now. How has your week been?_

"It's been fine. Well, it could be better. How's yours?"

 _Amazing. Apart from an altercation with an angel, who I accidently lead on. They can still hit hard even in heaven._ Ethan laughs _. No, but it's been fine. Pretty idyllic. You sure your week has been okay?_

Ethan avoids looking at the stone and the conversation becomes even more real. Cal's face looks into his, short bristly hair tousled in the gentle breeze. Blue eyes lowering with concern. "Not really, Cal. I don't know what to do."

 _It'll come to you_ , he pictures Cal saying. He can almost hear Cal's voice despite it being so long. Deepening and quiet, knowing that it's time to be serious.

"You have more faith in me than you should."

 _I have just enough faith._

"Wish you were beside me," Ethan mumbles.

 _I wish you were too. Then I could swat you, because you're being an idiot! Nothing is too big to be fixed._

 **Sunday**

Someone's at his flat. Ethan does a mad rush to clear the mess of his sitting room before bolting for the door, tearing the door open.

"Yes? Hello?"

Taking a step back, Robyn laughs. Even Charlotte on her hip looks surprised. "Oh. You are alright, then."

"Of course," Ethan is rather glad he hid the vodka bottles now. "Perfect. I hope you're as okay as I am. Because it's pretty okay!"

He lets her in, listening to her chatter. Absent-mindedly, she neatens the sofa cushions and sits.

"Alicia?"

Robyn looks at him. "You'll have to elaborate."

He wonders when on earth he stopped speaking like a normal person. "I, um. How's Alicia? That's what I meant, sorry."

Robyn's confusion settles into understanding. He comes to sit beside her. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. Nobody really does. Let's just say I was shocked to even see your door open, it's been a while since I've been let in."

Ethan offers a finger to Charlotte, who holds it happily. "She won't even open her door?"

"Only to me. Like, once! But she won't speak when I go in."

That's not what she needs right now, Ethan thinks worriedly, as Charlotte tries to eat his thumb. Landlords can be unkind people on occasion. Same as anyone, though. He has the inane urge to run to her and protect her from all cruel people in the world.

"I was planning on trying to visit her soon." _Once I'd sorted this hangover, godamnit Caleb, you really shouldn't have died because I can't sort my head out now_. "You think it'll be pointless?"

"I don't think anything is pointless if you have a will. You'll find a way."

"Not if she won't open the door to me. Can hardly climb in through the window."

"No, please don't do that," Robyn says, with such theatrical panic that Ethan feels almost sad she actually thinks he would. He wants to, but he won't.

"It's difficult," he says as Charlotte lets go of him. He moves to rest his elbow on his knee. The same left side of his lip is sore from incessant chewing but it's relieving so he makes no effort to stop.

"It always is, when people won't let you in. I remember many times trying to come and visit you when-" she stops abruptly. Maybe he looked more bothered by _that_ reference than he meant to. "I'm sorry, I won't bring it up."

"You can, i-it's fine," he reassures. Even though it isn't.

"No, no, it wasn't fair. At all. Not to bring up. It was a very painful situation and hardly anything makes me sadder than thinking of that night. It was like Charlie was holding you together. Never seen you… cry so much."

"Ro-"

"Then you didn't. Wouldn't react. Nobody knew what to do then. Like, why isn't he crying. No reaction." Robyn pauses. Her eyes are glossy. "I remember it. Watching you fall apart. I know it's not the same, but knowing Alicia is dealing with something so huge on her own? It's awful. It. Is. Awful."

Ethan is beginning to wonder if Robyn visited to check on him or to rant. Likely the latter. So he unearths his bottle of alcohol casually, hoping to drink off this hangover like the responsible adult he is whilst she's chattering on, but she gapes at him.

"Not in front of the baby! And not at all, thank-you-very- _much_."

He leaves it on the floor for later. "Robyn, what do we do?"

"Leave it on the floor!"

"About _Alicia_!"

"Oh. I hoped you'd know."

Brilliant. "Look. Tomorrow, we'll go to hers. I don't want to go without a woman with me."

"Why's that?" She's got an eyebrow raised.

"In case she's cautious of men," he says quietly, and Robyn understands. "And additionally, she might actually let us in together if you're there."

"Good idea."

"She'll feel safer if you're there too."

"Let's hope so," Robyn says. She jogs a grizzly Charlotte on her knee. Sighing, she looks about his flat. "What do we do, then? What do we say even if she does answer the door to us?"

Ethan doesn't reply. He wordlessly shrugs, and drops his eyes to the ground. _I don't know. I really don't know._

 **Monday**

It's Monday. The sun is a yolk yellow, rays of it across the cloudless blue sky. A breeze rustles the bushes and dries the morning dew from the grass. Charlotte is aching to tear daisy heads off and eat daffodils like the wild baby she is, but Ethan holds her tightly to his hip.

Robyn knocks for a third time. When there's no response, she turns and rubs his shoulder. Clearly their mutual disappointment is evident on his face.

"Do you want to try?"

"It's just knocking. It doesn't matter who does it," he says, peering through the glass in the door. There's no movement in the hall. "Damn."

Roby leans down, lifting the letterbox flap. "Alicia, darling, it's Robyn and Charlotte. Let us in?"

Eventually, there's movement in the hall. Both of them silently rejoice. Charlotte bounces up and down on his hip, excited, and waves her little fists around. She's going to fall off if she keeps being so over-enthusiastic. Ethan grips her tightly.

There's a sound of the keys being slid in. Hesitantly, the keys turn to open it, and the door is pulled just a crack.

Ethan feels his chest decompress. "I am so glad you're okay."

Alicia's eyes are sunken. There's a matted bathrobe around her shoulders, her arms wrapped tightly and protectively around her chest. Distrust is in her expression, the creases in her forehead, the uneasiness of tiny breaths due to anxiety.

' _Okay'_ doesn't seem close to the right word.

When they've stood in a few seconds of no conversation, she stands aside and lets Robyn in. But she blocks the way when Ethan tries to walk in, holding her hand out. It shakes.

"Alicia, darling, he's not going to hurt you."

Her lips part. "That's what I thought, yeah." She's clearly referring to a different ' _he'_. A person who shouldn't belong in the human race.

"You know I couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag, right?"

"Heard you punched someone the other day." Lucky she hasn't worked out who it is. Connie is dealing with all of that. Ethan doesn't want to think about when the trial will be.

"Someone who deserved it. One of the few people in the world who do."

Alicia shakes her head weakly. "And what if you decide that I deserve to be hurt too?"

"Nobody _deserves_ to be hurt. That scum was the exception to the rule."

"I don't know, Ethan, I…" she takes in a breath. "What do you even want?"

 _You. Just you._

"For you not to be alone."

* * *

She lets him in eventually. Robyn goes to the kitchen - close enough to be called if needs be, far away enough for their conversation to sound like whispers to her ears. Charlotte plays on the floor. She tears a magazine into strips. Alicia strokes Charlotte's head, a faint smile on her face. It fades quickly as she braves a look at Ethan.

"I'm not weak. I don't need you to turn up round here and mend me."

Ethan looks at Alicia on the sofa opposite him. No, she isn't. She's brave. A lioness in a world of zebras. Full of smiles but not afraid to frown, to put people in their place. Weak is not a word he would ever use to describe her. Not ever.

"I know. That's not what anyone sees you as. I didn't come to be a sympathetic friend to drink tea with you," he says. "I want to be your wall."

Alicia raises an eyebrow. Under her waterline is smudged black. "Sometimes I like it when you're cryptic. Other times it pisses me off."

"Then I'll be frank, if that's what you want," he says. "I'll be your wall. You can talk at me and shout at me. And you don't have to care about being judged because walls don't judge. They don't feel anything. But you feel better after shouting until everything is out, even just fractionally."

"Do you?"

Ethan remembers the many pillows he's shouted into. Those poor pillows. "I do. Maybe you will too."

She shuffles in her seat. "I don't want to shout. It won't make anything better."

"It won't make anything worse."

Alicia looks into his eyes. It's only for a couple seconds, her trying to scan the situation, mentally weighing the pros and cons.

And eventually, "no."

"Why not?"

"I don't… I don't want to think about it. I've done nothing but think about it. Like it's polluted every other thought. Everything is tainted by him. Can't even look at water the same way, because I offered him water and all I can think about is his smile when he accepted it. That… fucking smile." Alicia shivers.

"It won't make it worse."

"You've said that. And, I'm sorry, Ethan, but you don't get this. You don't understand. You can't expect me to sit there with you and whilst you nod as I cry into your shoulder. You can't tell me it's going to be okay, that you _get_ it, because you don't, and you don't _know_ that it'll be fine! You don't know that I'm not going to keep feeling worse and _worse_ and never better again. Ever. Like this is as good as life gets."

Alicia slams her hands down after she says that. She's angry. This is the Alicia he used to be afraid of, once. The side of her where her fists shake and her mouth is in a stern line. The version of her that nobody messes with.

"I wasn't expecting you to cry into my shoulder," he says calmly. "I'm a wall, remember?"

"Oh… fuck you, Ethan." Alicia spits. "I'm not going to be vulnerable in front of you, even though you'd like that."

He doesn't flinch. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Everything. Absolutely everything. Did that answer your question? Look.. just go. I don't want to yell at you."

"Yeah, but I'm a wall right now. Walls don't mind being shouted at a bit."

"For fucks sake, drop the wall metaphor!"

"No!"

Alicia rocks back into the sofa. She's quiet. His loud 'no' echoes in the air. They listen to Robyn in the kitchen, cups clinking, cutlery being dropped into drawers, cabinets being closed, feet shuffling about, and she looks less angry. More upset.

"It feels better to be angry," she says eventually. "Rather than upset."

Ethan looks at her, but she doesn't look back. "I know it does. So go on then."

"Go on what?"

"Be angry. Sadness makes you feel weak. Anger makes you feel invincible. It's too early right now to turn your sadness into strength, so focus on this fury. Come on."

"I don't know-"

"For god's sake, Alicia," he says with a short laugh. "You hit a guy over the head with a metal cylinder once to protect yourself and kept yourself safe from so many unfair patients. You were almost crushed by scaffolding. You've seen me without trousers on..." her mouth bends into a short-lived smile at that, and his heart feels full. "You've been through some _awful_ feats. Gone through so much. And it's not fair, is it?"

"Shouldn't wallow in self-pity. It's not fair but I'm not going to _cry_ over it."

"Of course not. That's not healthy. But it's awful, isn't it? Thousands of troubled individuals not getting the help they need. People being treated as though they're worthless, being told to stop trying and give up the fight. It's angering. Infuriating."

Her eyes are dry now. She looks up at him, days old mascara crusty on her lashes. "Yeah, it is."

"The world is so… shit. It can be so awful. And that makes everyone mad, doesn't it?" Ethan says. Lower, he says, "so shout. You've done it enough times. Tell me that you're angry!"

So she does.

* * *

"It feels like I'm on the edge, and I can't…"

"I know. I know."

Alicia's hand is in Ethan's. According to Robyn, it's been an hour. She's been gone for two with Charlotte. Four hours is fast approaching and Ethan's hand is going numb but he doesn't care. He doesn't care at all.

"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice is hoarse from all the talking. "Thank you, I suppose. For…"

"For nothing. It's all you, Alicia. I'm so proud of you."

Alicia smiles. That same smile he fell in love with. The intoxicating one. "Never knew it could be so relieving to be vulnerable. But… scary."

"But relieving."

"Yeah, relieving." She takes in a deep breath, squeezing his fingers. "Here's to that."

"Yes. Here's to being vulnerable, then," Ethan repeats. He smiles. It's a start. It's nowhere near the end but it's a start. She'll be okay. She will be.

Alicia Munroe is coming back from the edge.

* * *

 **InfinityAndOne:** _Oh well haha! Yeah, it seemed like a him thing to do rather than immediately asking for comfort (agreed!). I know... to know it wasn't actually his fault was likely the hugest weight off of his shoulders. Thank you for your reviewww!_

 **bronny9:** _It's totally okay!_ Aw _that's so lovely :D Thank you for your review!_

 **20BlueRoses:** _Exactly, it_ lead _to them being sweet so it was kinda worth the awfulness of seeing him sad haha! Aw, ah that's so nice to hear! Thank you for your review!_

 **Bonnie Sveen Fan:** _I'm really happy you enjoyed it! He so didn't, all he was doing was his job bless him. No problem, and thank you for your review!_


	4. Bonnie Sveen Fan: Drunk Mum

**Request:** _PM (for Bonnie Sveen Fan)_

 **Characters (in order of most featured):** _Jessica Harrison, Zoe Hanna, Cal Knight, Ethan Hardy, Lucas/Amelia, Adam Truman, Noel Garcia._

 **Rating:** _K._

 **Warnings:** _RTC._

 **Prompt:** _Jessica and Zoe are on a night out when Jessica ends up getting injured. In the ED later, Cal and Ethan are in charge of her treatment. Jessica's excessive drinking is worrying. Can Zoe support her friend whilst the brothers work out her drinking and additional worrying symptoms, whilst managing to juggle Jessica's two children and tricky "husband"?_

* * *

 **Drunk Mum**

Jessica throws her head back as she downs another shot. Then another. And another. She's struggling to stay upright and it's not even midnight yet.

Vodka pumps through her. It makes her feel better. She slides into the crowd of swaying bodies, joining them, the place throbbing with music and drunken laughter. It feels like the world is spinning before her. There are people and faces and bottles of alcohol, unfamiliarity greeting her with every stumble. She's laughing. They're all laughing.

Now there are hands on her. A face is in front of hers. Somewhere, in the confused tangles of her brain, she recognises this person; their kind brown eyes, short hair and tight dress. They're guiding her, pulling her out, clumsy with their own intoxication. Who is it? Names flicker into her mind. It's impossible to grasp a single-

Wait. Zoe. That's the one.

"Aw, no, I was having fun!"

Cool air runs through her hair as they stumble out into the night. They leave the excitement of the pub behind. There's a couple of lightweights vomiting in an alley, making Jessica's stomach churn. She wants to be back in there. Not out here, with Zoe, who's struggling to light a cigarette.

"Just a few more. A few more."

"You've had enough," Zoe says. She's holding Jessica clumsily, her wrist between a thumb and forefinger. "I might take you home, alright?"

"I'm a big girl. I can handle my shots."

"You're drunk."

"Not drunk," she refuses. "Suitably _tipsy_."

Jessica stumbles back in, leaving Zoe and her unlit cigarette behind. She's back into the drink-fuelled madness. It's exciting. Relieving. A couple more shots and she's holding onto a stranger, sweat accumulating by her shoulder blades, her hair in tangles.

Then it happens. What always happens.

In the window of the building, her eyes fall on a young woman. There's a baby cradled in her arms.

Jessica's heart aches. It's squeezing.

The familiarity of it consumes her. Racing thoughts. What ifs. Someone is breathing on the back of her neck, little hairs standing up. Can't stay still. Her hands are tingling, shaking too, and her breath somehow is catching. Mocking her. Her body is punishing her, drying her mouth out as if she's swallowed salt.

There's nothing and then there's everything and it changes like the seasons. It always does.

 _Crash. Lights, closing in. Glass splinters. Metal squashed into an accordian. Darkness - the scariest part is when the darkness ceases._

Jessica works herself out of it quickly, breathing heavily. Her body aches.

More vodka.

She can't stop. With every drop, the pain is dissolving. It feels good. Better. The worry disappears and she's laughing, dancing, ignoring Zoe as she speaks, her clothes soaked with tobacco. It's going to hurt in the morning when she has no medication. It feels nice now.

Jessica takes one step forward, the world spins, and the floor gets closer. Too close. She hits it. There's consequences: searing pain; several gasps; and then nothing. Everything considered, the 'nothing' part is the very best part.

* * *

"This is Jessica Harrison, forty-four, intoxicated and KO'd on the scene. Had a lot to drink, fell over and blacked out. There's a deep laceration on her forehead. Pretty nasty."

Bright lights guide the way. She's moving, but her feet are resting on something. It doesn't make sense until she remembers the existence of wheelchairs. It's funny how she manages to forget, so she laughs to herself as the paramedics pass her over. New hands take hold of the handles.

"Hi, Jessica. Let's get you to cubicles, shall we?"

Zoe walks beside the man who said that. The one with short bristly blond hair, long legs and a stethoscope wrapped lazily around his neck. The name of the man is in Jessica's head somewhere but she can't work it out, so she doesn't. There are more pressing issues, like the blood trickling down her forehead. It tastes like pennies. Her dress is stained with droplets of it.

"If you could just wriggle onto the bed for me, please."

Jessica does. It takes more effort than anticipated. The entire hospital is spinning.

Zoe comes into Jessica's vision. "Oh, Jessica," she says, examining the laceration. "What have you done, huh?" It's the exhale that follows that statement which sounds the saddest. Then everything that was funny or vaguely interesting before no longer remains in her mind. _You're right, Zoe. What have I done?_

* * *

A couple tests later, it's almost entirely official (official enough to put money on) - Jessica is physically fine. The cut is stitched up, she's given cups of water and a cubicle. Cal twitches the curtain, checking on her. She's lying on her side, fists loosely grasping the sheet, and staring into space.

"How's it going?"

Cal almost drops his coffee. "Shhh, Ethan. I'm trying to be stealthy," he closes the curtain, shoving his brother as they get some distance between themselves and Jessica. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," he says. "She seems tired."

"She _has_ just knocked herself out. It takes a lot out of a person," Cal shivers in a sort of 'been there' type of way. Accidently. He doesn't miss Ethan's disapproval in his expression and doesn't make reference to it either in fear of sitting through a well-meaning but annoying lecture.

Saying that - not that he'd ever, ever, ever admit this - he does notice weariness in Jessica now Ethan has mentioned it. Exhaustion. She seem paranoid and shaky. Cal had been prepared to sort her out and send her off, just the way he should, but thinking on it, he doesn't feel it's right.

Cal decides to be careful for once. "You know, I think we ought to pull out her notes."

"It's only a laceration. Is it necessary?"

"I'm being thorough like everyone keeps telling me to be. God, can't please anyone."

"Need a hand?"

" _No_. I've got this." On a mission, Cal clicks through the computer. He finds what he needs within seconds. Good old hospital records. Surviving of any fires.

 _Jessica Harrison. 44. Female. Previous admissions._ Cal skips to more recently and ignores the drink-related injuries of the bog standard head injuries - because damn, there's a lot. _April '17, hospitalized with acute chest pain. No diagnosis - stress takes the blame. November '17, recommended Triazolam for insomnia but refuses despite being advised to take it. December '17, unknown accident, no injuries, just precautions taken. January '18, taken to St James' hospital due to a severe-_

"Caleb!"

He snaps his head up. Ethan, flushed and panicked, is calling him. And has been numerous times, according to his expression. He turns and Cal follows him, into the cubicle, where Jessica is gasping for breath.

"What's going on?" Cal demands. She's gripping the bed sheets.

"In and out, you're doing great," Ethan says encouragingly. With a wholly different look, he spins to Cal. "And you tell me, Mr _I've got this._ "

"Yeah, well, she was fine. Straight to res-"

"No, no," Jessica gasps. She reaches out for Cal's wrist, holding it tightly enough to restrict blood flow. Desperately. "It's… fine. Happened… before."

Cal is close to the emergency button, but Ethan gives him a look. "Cal. It's a panic attack," he says knowingly. "Jessica, you're doing so well. Let go of his wrist and start clenching your hands into little balls. Concentrate on that."

Shakily, she nods. Obviously she trusts his judgement. Luckily for them - Jessica is the sort to be stubborn, Cal can see that from a mile off. Clenching her fists and taking deep, exaggerated breaths, she returns back to herself. Slowly but surely.

When Cal has come back from fetching her a plastic cup of water, she's entirely solaced. So calm you'd never have guessed anything was ever wrong.

Those are the people you need to watch out for. The quiet ones.

"This has happened before, has it?"

Jessica nods at Cal, grateful for the water. "On occasion."

"Was there any trigger for it?"

"No, no, I just…" she sucks in a breath. "Got a text. Childminder had to go home. My children, they'll be alone."

"DOn't worry about that. We'll get them sent here."

"A-And I saw a baby, and it just…"

Ethan intervenes. "Just what, Jessica?" He says softly.

Quickly, shutting herself off again, she shakes her head. "Nothing. Please, could you make sure my children are okay?"

"Me?" Jessica seems to think Ethan is capable. "I, uh, sure."

Cal slaps his brother on the back, sending him off. He focuses attention back to Jessica. "Doing okay?"

"Doing fine," she says.

Cal smiles. He doesn't believe her. In the back of his mind, he's re-reading the notes in his mind.

 _January '18, taken to St James' hospital due to a severe panic attack. Referred to a psychologist. Never attended the appointment._

Zoe rushes in. Cal could laugh at her expression, but he's far more impressed at the speeds she can reach in those _very_ high heels. It seems like most in this place are good in high shoes.

"What happened?"

Cal carefully sneaks from the cubicle to give them privacy. He catches Jessica's hand sliding into Zoe's, who squeezes it tightly. He's glad Zoe is there. Jessica needs all the support she can get.

* * *

Five minutes with Jessica is all Zoe needs to realise something is wrong. Something big. She seems in pain.

"Would you like morphine? Is something hurting?"

Stubbornly, Jessica shakes her head. "It's fine. Just fine."

"This came on quickly…"

"It comes in waves," Jessica closes her eyes. "I swear, I'm fine."

"Nothing is wrong in admitting you aren't."

Jessica shakes her head. Zoe knows there's no way of swaying her once she's made her mind up about something.

* * *

 _Binge drinking. Let's oversee the laceration, it's an unimportant detail. What's important is the drinking. Why is she drinking so much?_

 _I rang the childminder to sort the children out. Ethan is waiting outside for them, so that's sorted - but Jessica goes out a lot by the sounds of it. Not good. For drinking? On her own? How much does she have?_

 _Why is she drinking? For fun, or for a reason?_

 _She suffered a panic attack. She's had one before, or numerous ones. Panicked about children - caring mother - and then something about a baby didn't help. What's the significance in a baby? She doesn't have a baby._

 _Zoe mentioned she was in pain. Seems uncomfortable. Additionally seems troubled, anxious. Anxiety? Undiagnosed anxiety is likely. Doesn't explain the pain._

 _But the anxiety, is that the answer? Is that why she's drinking?_

 _Don't know. This shouldn't be this complicated. Maybe I'm caring too much. It's always harder when it's one of our own._

Cal scribbles out the last two sentences with a skinny black line. This is meant to be a professional set of observations, not a diary.

 _Will ask the patient. I still need to work out what the 'unknown accident' is._

* * *

Ethan does his best to get _The_ _Shining_ out of his head when he sees them - which he still hasn't forgiven Cal for forcing him to watch - by making it logical. They're not even twins. Nor frightening. They are two kids. _They_ are frightened.

"I'm doctor Hardy. Ethan, I mean," he says, ushering them along. It's a bad time in the ED for two kids to come along. Friday night. There's a brawl kicking out in the reception seats, and the little boy shrinks back. The girl is close enough to get elbowed, so Ethan brings them both closer and walks.

They don't speak. Both look around, obviously recognising the place but still uncomfortable. The little boy fidgets. Ethan pulls open the relatives room, which is eerily still due to lack of use this night. They do as they're told and go in.

For a few seconds, there's a silence. They look about. Unamused. It all must be rather boring. The little girl yawns, and the boy soon follows whilst rubbing his hands into his eyes. Poor children. He tells them to sit down, that they must be exhausted.

Ethan stands, hovering like a nervous babysitter. "Uh. Right. Do you both have names?"

The little girl looks up at him. The atmosphere changes. Ethan suddenly feels very much like the child in the room. "Do _you_ have a name?" she says, and rightly so.

The sarcasm invokes a sense of guilt in Ethan. Of course they have names. They're children, not vermin. "Yes, it's, uh, Ethan. I told you."

She smiles in a satisfied way. "I'm Amelia," she says. "This is Lucas."

* * *

Cal is thinking by reception. Intensely. He's been asked if he's alright about five times, and each time, the question had confused him so much that he'd been unable to answer it for a couple seconds. Thinking is… well, it requires a lot of energy, especially when doing it so very intensely.

When Adam strides in, he snaps out of it. Tall, gelled black hair and a weathered face. He looks like a soldier. Head held high. Approaching the desk, he disregards the queue.

"Jessica. Where is she?"

Cal puts a hand on Noel's shoulder, stopping him from replying. "Hi, sorry. I'm in charge of her treatment."

"Is she okay?"

Cal nods. "Yeah, she's going to be fine. It's just a small injury."

"I figured it was an injury, mate, you don't go to A&E for a laugh."

"Adam," Noel calls warningly. They'd both forgotten he was there. Noel gets back to speaking to someone who actually joined the queue, clutching her arm to her chest.

"As I was saying," Cal says, irked, "she'll be fine."

"Well, can you tell me exactly what happened?"

This is obviously not going to go well, Cal gathers, by the sort of person Adam seems to be. He breathes outwards and readies himself for the explosion. "I'm afraid I can't tell you everything, what with patient confidentiality, but-" And additionally, Cal doesn't know everything yet.

"Seriously? My wife-"

"Your ex, you mean?"

Adam gives him daggers. "My wife is in a cubicle somewhere and I'm not allowed to know what's wrong? Am I even allowed to see her? Will she have to wear a paper bag over her head as to not breach your precious patient confidentiality?"

Cal has dealt with many Adams' in his time. So he's calm. "She collapsed in a pub, that's the bare bones of it."

Cal could make life easier for himself - he could tell Adam everything. But not only would he get in a lot of trouble, he wouldn't know what to say. He hasn't worked the puzzle out yet.

"Wow, how kind of you to actually let me know that. Really appreciated."

Adam begins to storm off, right in the direction of cubicles. Cal immediately goes after him. He catches his shoulder, almost getting hit with it by how savagely Adam turns around again.

"Tell me where she is."

"She's gone for a scan, but you can wait in-"

"I'm not waiting anywhere! I'll wait outside the scan. What scan?"

"Adam," Cal says. "The answer is no. Please respect that we need our space."

"No, you respect that she is my wife! And I cannot sit and wait whilst you all do as you please. How on earth do I know that you're treating her injuries sufficiently? I don't! There could be negligence and I'd have no idea, and-"

"You're really not helping, right now."

"Neither are you! Show me where she is and you can get back to work."

"I told you, she's in-"

"Oh, you-" Adam shoots his hands out, aiming to push Cal back for his shoulders to keep walking on.

He misses.

A rush of pain attacks him. Cal steps backwards, hitting into a wall. He brings his hand to his lip, which has started to bleed. Great. Weak pain throbs through his lip.

"Right," Cal says, using a tissue to mop the blood. It blossoms across the white. "Now you'll definitely have to wait out here." He waves off security. " _Sit, Adam_."

* * *

Two children. What on earth does one do to occupy two children?

They weren't interested in watching the old grainy television. Neither were keen on playing Snap or Monopoly yet. Ethan had offered them his phone in pure desperation but there wasn't anything to do on there anyway. They weren't sleepy either.

So they ended up practising handstands against the sofa, which truly ruined Ethan's professional reputation; but he figured it was in the recycling anyway.

"My turn!"

Amelia held her chin up, indignant to Lucas. "You don't even do gymnastics! It's my turn," she stretches her leg out, poised, and pushes herself over her head. She's in the air, legs bent slightly, a huge grin on her red face as she manages to stay in a good position for a couple seconds before her back arches. She falls back onto the sofa.

"That wasn't very good," Lucas grumbles, but there's envy in his eyes.

"Here, Lucas," Ethan says. "Take your shoes off and I'll help you do it."

Lucas does as he's told. Then, clumsily, he pushes himself onto his hands and Ethan holds his legs into position. Lucas is wobbling all over the place but he's laughing triumphantly. When he loses strength, Ethan helps him back down.

"Very good!" Ethan praises.

"Your turn."

"My what?"

Amelia smiles mischievously. "You heard Lucas, now you have to do it."

"Oh, no, I'm much too big. If I fall then I'll squash you both."

They don't seem to care. They're grinning and giggling, virtually blackmailing him into it - "You're meant to entertain us so entertain us!" - and he has to say yes in the end, despite not having an athletic bone in his body.

"Alright, but move back."

They already have. Lucas is in peals of giggles and Amelia is almost hysterical as they watch. Ethan wonders why it's so amusing until he realizes.

Yeah, it's not as easy as he looks.

As soon as he's on his hands, his own weight drags him down. His back arches. He falls back onto the sofa like Amelia did, but without the grace. Somehow, his head comes into contact with the floor and there's an almighty crack noise. Pain radiates from his skull.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. He considers curling into a ball and crying. But would a responsible adult do that? No. Well, they might if there's nobody about, but he has two giggling children to take care of. So he laughs through it.

"Okay, no more handstands," Ethan says as he picks himself up, hiding the agony. They'd truly played him.

"I did that once. Ice will make it better." Amelia says as though she's the adult in the room. Perhaps she is.

"I am a doctor, you know," he says - almost to remind himself rather than her because he's meant to be grown-up - but smiles. "Ok. Let's play Snap or something. I don't think there's a possibility of any of us getting injured with that."

They're pulling out the weathered pack of cards when Amelia says something questionable. It's in response to a question, one which Ethan had expected a neutral answer to. Not… that.

"You kids must be exhausted," he says, shuffling the cards. "I'm sorry that you're dragged down here at this hour. I'm sure your mum will be sorted soon."

"It's okay. Drinking isn't nice. Just make her better."

Ethan looks up at her. He hadn't said that Jessica had been drinking. Some parents are funny about their children knowing about that sort of pastime so he'd kept hush-hush about it.

"It happens sometimes," Lucas adds. "Sometimes she gets drunk and nanny comes round to put us to bed. Like she can't breathe."

"She can't breathe because of the drinking?"

"No. Just… before. She can't breathe. And it hurts, she says." Amelia says. She accepts the cards from Ethan, who is stunned, long since forgetting his handstand injury that throbs incessantly to remind him it's still there. "Mum says it's okay though."

"It's not-" Ehan is interrupted by the door opening.

Cal peers his head round, smiling, but there's a cut on his lip. "Can I have a word?"

Ethan immediately forgets his throbbing head. He bobs his head. Then he turns to the kids, who aren't really listening anyway. "Uh, you know what to do. You guys start. I'll join in on the second round."

He walks, coming to his brothers' side. They stand by the door, away from Lucas and Amelia's earshot. They're deep in conversation. Seems like Ethan almost giving himself brain damage has almost made them into angels.

Ethan ghosts his hand where Cal's lip is, not quite touching it, and makes a wincing noise. "How did you manage that?"

"Adam."

"Jessica's husband?"

"I mean, I think. I don't know what he is to her. Ex? She's certainly worth a lot to him though if he hits me in the face for her."

"Oh, Cal..." Ethan frowns.

"It's fine. It doesn't even hurt," Cal says in that carefree way which indicates that it does, but he's just being Cal; you know, indignant and annoying. "Anyway. How are the kids?"

Ethan remembers the handstands. "Fine. They're fine. Entertained, for sure." He considers saying what they said. Cal is her doctor, after all. "They said something… worrying."

"Aw, they said something that worried you? You're too old to be getting picked on my primary school kids."

"About Jessica," Ethan elaborates huffily, and that shuts him up. "She drinks a lot, apparently. And she can't breathe. They said something about pain, whatever type it is. It's very unclear but it's as though she's drinking to mask whatever is wrong with her."

"That'd make a lot of sense."

"She did say she'd had a panic attack before, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Cal says. "What with everything I've read up on, her notes, the panicking, the anxiousness in general, I'm suspecting anxiety. Someone is coming down already to speak with her."

"It still doesn't explain the pain, though. Zoe mentioned she's hurting and there's nothing in her notes," Ethan says.

Cal pauses, deep in thought. They don't speak. Ethan rests his head on the doorframe and sighs.

A burst of laughter distracts them. Lucas and Amelia are giggling over a game of cards, scattered over their playing surface. Amelia tries to hit him and he dodges. They laugh harder. Outsiders wouldn't know what was going on at home. He wonders if they're used to this. Their mother being ill. Drunk, panicky, troubled, hurt. Like it's chronic, seeming to never...

 _Chronic…_

"Chronic pain from anxiety!" Say Cal and Ethan at the same time.

* * *

It was a good guess, but they were wrong.

When they come back into the cubicle - Robyn kindly offered to mind the kids whilst Noel kept an eye on Adam - both women are there. Zoe is sobered up, a woolen jacket around her shoulders. She's sat on the edge of the bed with her hand on Jessica's shoulder. Jessica is clutching a tissue. It's got black mascara smudges on it. Most of her makeup is cried off.

Cal speaks first. "What's wrong, Jessica?"

"I can't…" she puts her hand to her head. "I can't stop thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Ethan asks softly.

Jessica looks up at them both with watery eyes. "The accident," she whispers.

* * *

 _It's a rainy day. Jessica has a grey hoodie on. It's her favourite one. She pulls the hood over her head, sheltering her head whilst laughing._

" _Cold cold cold cold…"_

 _She slides herself into her car, slamming her keys in. Better get a move on. The kids need picking up from school. Jessica pulls the door in._

 _Music plays from the radio. She drums her nails against the wheel. Minutes pass. It's half three. Or is it twenty past? This is a memory, so it's all hazy._

 _She doesn't know this song. 'I'm like a kid who just won't let it go, twisting and turning the colours in rows'... The words are unknown so she 'dah dah dah's the rest, making her way through traffic. Her mind slowly slides from caring about following the tune. She's late. The kids will be waiting in the rain. Her 'dah dah dah's get more frantic._

 _Then she finds a turning she hasn't gone down before. A turning that in the future would make her break out in a cold sweat._

 _She goes down it._

 _The memories are hazy. It's a mish mash of images, trees, sharp turns, regret, trying to turn around, hitting something…_

 _A car ahead of her with a mum and baby._

 _Next thing she remembers, she's sat down, hyperventilating on the grass with tears down her face, and her favourite grey hoodie is stained with blood._

* * *

Cal starts. "So that's why you're panicking-"

"-and why you're strange around babies-"

"-and that explains the chronic pain too, from the impact of the car accident, you hurt your back..."

"So it's not simply _anxiety_."

"It's _trauma_ ," Cal concludes after Ethan, clapping his hands together. "Panic attacks, re-living the event… And you've been coping with it with the drinking?"

Jessica looks ashamed when she nods. "Yeah, I mean… it's a distraction, isn't it? Once you find a crutch, it's hard to let go. I've been going out a lot. Getting very drunk."

"You're not sleeping well either, are you?" Ethan says. Sympathetically, because not sleeping is a huge drain on energy. Energy she needs as a single mother to two and additionally a full-time working nurse.

"No. I don't want to, no medication, sleeping is the enemy. Each time I try and sleep, I just see… them. I know it wasn't my fault, I know that, but it just sticks with me. They were okay in the end, I just," she inhales deeply. "Hate to think of the what ifs. A mother shouldn't be without their baby. A baby shouldn't be without their mother."

"Not sleeping well would've made your panic attacks worse," Ethan says, forehead creased. "It would've made everything worse."

"I know," she whispers. "I'll do as the doctors tell me now. I can't take this anymore."

"Glad to hear," Cal says with a gentle smile. "Medication and a couple referrals. You'll be on the right track. At the very least, some painkillers for the chronic pain."

Zoe's hand rests on Jessica's shoulder. "Hey. We're here for you, you know? You should've reached out. Got help."

Jessica doesn't speak for a while. When she does, her voice sounds choked. Lowered and brittle. "I don't want to risk the kids. What if people decide I can't cope?"

"But you can. And you will. The kids are safe with you. Know how I know?"

Jessica looks questioningly up at Zoe, tears in her wide eyes.

"Because, even with blood pouring down your face, too drunk to know your name, you were caring about them. Panicking because of them." Zoe pulls Jessica into a one-armed hug. "Hey, you care about them too much to ever do them wrong. They're safe. Forever and always. You cope. And if you feel like you can't…."

"There's no-one to rely on," Jessica says quietly.

"...my babysitting is always an option," Zoe smiles, squeezing her closer. "We'll do this together."

* * *

 **Guest:** _Ah bless you! Thank you for your review!_

 **Bonnie Sveen Fan:** _Definitely was a cool scene haha enjoyed watching it! No, nobody deserves to go through such awful trauma, poor Alicia. It was very lucky she had them, yeah, good for her to open up. You're welcome, and thank you for your review!_


	5. Jynx999: Engulfed

**Request:** _PM (Jynx999)_

 **Characters (in order of most featured)** : _Ethan Hardy, Caleb Knight, Connie Beauchamp, Charlie Fairhead, (OCs) Kerri and Percy, Iain Dean and Sam Nichols._

 **Rating:** _K+._

 **Warnings:** _Sick, fire, burns and death mentions_

 **Prompt:** _Anything with Hurt!Ethan, Caring!Cal._

 **a/n:** _really very sorry about how late this is, your pm got lost :( hope you are still interested, i wrote something for you anyway!_

* * *

It's quiet today. Calm. Kerri always likes these days best. She knows her husband, Percy, does too. Neither of them are the type for fairgrounds or crowded shopping centres. They like to sit inside and read.

Kerri is deliberating on which candle to have out. She can't go a day without lighting at least one from her beloved collection. "What scent, Cherry Blossom or Raindrops?"

A short laugh comes from the other room. "Is that even a question?" She should've known. Percy isn't partial to anything even vaguely flowery besides Peony.

Kerri smiles to herself. "Raindrops, then."

The candle is placed softly on the coffee table between them. Flicking her matchstick against the box, she strikes a flame. The wax is beginning to melt within moments of it being lit. Kerri watches, entranced, and then joins her husband on the armchair. She perches on his lap.

When they go to bed later, they forget about the candle all night. They forget about it all morning as well.

The pile of paper right next to the candle is forgotten too.

* * *

 **Engulfed**

* * *

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Ethan can't stop _thinking_ about everything.

From his chest, his heartbeats echo in his ears. It's like blood is rushing. His body is in fight mode. Ethan tosses in bed, shaking his head, but he can't get these thoughts out.

If only he could pick them out of his mind with a thumb and forefinger. He'd put them a cupboard and then go to bed. Then he could get the thoughts back again in the morning. Worry about it then. One night is all he needs.

The bowl on the table beside him is glinting in weak light, which is coming through a slit in the curtains. Morning is approaching and he's barely slept. The bowl is looking at him. Reminding him why.

Ethan grabs it, sitting immediately. Sickness doesn't come at first. When it does, it grips him so hard that he wonders if he'll ever get out of the hands of it. He's hardly breathing.

Airbourne vomit sticks around. Even when he's disposed of the bowl. His upstairs neighbours have lit a candle, it's been burning since last night, and he can smell it through the open window, but it's hardly covering the smell of sick. Ethan lays, hands on his stomach, and knows it's a matter of time before he's sick again. It'll be a mad rush for a sink. He's not looking forward to it. Obviously. Ethan closes his eyes and wishes for sleep. Begging for it.

More light is flooding in. It's definitely approaching the start of the day quickly. He's running out of time. His stomach lurches.

He has no bowl. Ethan slides onto the cold floor, convincing himself he won't be sick. He won't. Keep it in. Ethan takes shaky breaths in. It's kept at bay.

Tears don't come. He can't cry; too tired. Too weak. Too longing to just close his eyes and get a moment of rest. At least a couple seconds. A loud knock at the door shocks him. Ethan spins his head to the clock - and regrets it, because gravity is shifting already - and it reads eight. Oh. Oh, no.

"Come on, Ethan!" Calls Cal jovially from the other side. "Time to get up - we've got our FCEM exams today, remember?"

* * *

Morning is a nightmare. Ethan doesn't eat, speak, or move too much throughout the whole few hours. The car ride was difficult. He had to concentrate extra hard to not let his restraint slip.

Cal isn't noticing the extent of this. He is teasing - "Aw, are you nervous?" - but that's just Cal. Ethan could easily tell him how awful he's feeling. Maybe he'd slow the car down, give him a bowl or a pep talk. Anything. Ethan is in such an awful mood that he'd even accept a hug. He doesn't bring it up, though.

Later, at work, Ethan is doing his best to play examiner for Cal's sake. They take it turns. But he can barely stammer through these questions - his hesitant stuttering being the only sound in the otherwise empty staff room.

"A woman, a forty five year old woman, she, uh… she's presenting with vertigo. And vomiting. Symptoms are worsening in general when she, uh, when she-"

Cal slaps his hands down on his legs, chucking his head back. "Oh my God, just…"

Ethan feels his face burn. "Give three features which make a peripheral cause more likely than a central cause."

"Right. Finally. Well," Cal pauses in thought. Ethan looks down at his paper. Oh, oops.

"Sorry, Cal, I meant… what makes a _central_ cause more likely than a peripheral cause."

"Okay… what am I answering?"

"Giving three features. Or is it five? No. List three features."

Cal looks frustrated. "Just give me the paper," he says and tries to snatch it.

"No!"

"Ethan, you're a rubbish examiner, let me read them out."

"You always crease the paper," Ethan argues, holding it back. "It's my turn anyway - I am sitting the exam too, remember?"

They exchange glares. It distracts Ethan from his worsening terror. Though the relief from distraction is short-lived. The upcoming exam is looming. Even the thought of it is making him sweat. The thought it's in a few hours? And once he's in there, that's it? No more time to revise? Ethan wants to sit in a cold shower. He's burning up.

"Just chill-" Cal snatches the paper. -" _out_!"

"I just told you, Cal, it's my turn!"

"Then I need to hold it anyway!"

Ethan purses his lips, frustrated. At this point, an argument is inevitable. "Okay, b-but… look, you didn't even finish your question, so give it here."

"You couldn't spit it out."

"Give me the paper! I need to test you. You'll fail otherwise, and what happens then? Everything you've worked for is gone!" Ethan reaches for the paper, but Cal is faster and holds it back, so they're tugging for it like ridicuous children.

Then it tears in half.

Cal's mouth is in an O. Ethan feels his heart sink to his stomach, disbelief flooding his system. No. No, no, no, no. They need to practise. They have to! But they can't, because the paper is ripped, and it's his fault, all his fault, and… and Ethan is going to fail. So is Cal. Cal will hate him. Cal hates him right now.

Ethan stands to his feet before Cal can say a word. He pushes out of the staff room, hand on heart, and strides through the hospital. He needs air. So much air. Cold air preferably. He's soaked with his own sweat, restricted by the thick air that the hospital pumps through. Someone vomits in a bowl at reception as he passes, and his own stomach churns.

Then he's out. Finally out.

"Ethan."

"Leave me alone," Ethan says, not meaning it, leaning against the wall. It's cold. Ethan turns and rests his forehead against it instead. There's beads of sweat on his brow.

Cal is quiet for a while. He doesn't offer comfort. Maybe he's still mad. It makes Ethan want to cry, but he doesn't, he wouldn't, not even if he had any energy at all. Ethan wants his big brother. His big brother doesn't want him.

Eventually, Cal says, "we've got spare copies of the question paper at home."

"I'll get it," Ethan mumbles to the wall.

"You'll have to be quick. We've got half an hour. Probably won't even have enough time to revise for the last time, even if you get back on time, but…"

Guilt doesn't beat the sickness of anxiety, but it's a pretty harsh second. It assaults him. "I'll get it," he repeats out of obligation.

He doesn't look at Cal, chancing a swift walk off to his car. It's up to him to apologise now. Got to get these spare papers. He could've sworn he hears Cal call him back. Sort of quietly. So he turns his head.

Cal's mouth is open, but he shakes his head. "Nevermind." Ethan turns back. "Actually, I just… are you-" he sighs. "Forget it, just go."

Just as Ethan had thought. Cal didn't care if Ethan was alright anyway. He turns his head quickly. This time, tears do come. Ethan lets them slip onto the steering wheel because he can't hold them back anyway.

* * *

Idiot. Such an idiot.

Cal watches Ethan as he goes, intense guilt settling in. Yes, it had been Ethan to blame for the paper ripping, but Cal hadn't exactly been patient. An equal chunk of blame could be given to them both.

Obviously Ethan is nervous. Very. Cal made a jibe about it this morning, trying to diffuse the tension, but it hadn't worked. Ethan clammed up more.

If their childhood is anything to go by, Ethan has, as before, spent the last few days being sick, living off of water and anxiety whilst awaiting the exam to come. Cal remembers those days well even though they were over a decade ago. Ethan was stubborn then to admit he's nervous and he's only gotten more headstrong with passing years. There's no point waiting until Ethan admits.

Cal is resolving their argument in his head when Connie calls him.

"Both of your FCEMs have been rescheduled," she says, holding the ED door open. "Go at four. Happy with that?"

Cal nods, and she's slipping back into the department before he can respond verbally. Deeply, he exhales. It's a relief. He's about to phone Ethan, to tell him to take his time, when an ambulance pulls up. Then Doctor Cal takes control, and he's forced to forget about Ethan in minutes.

* * *

Ethan rushes up the metal staircase with barely a breath. A couple seconds breathing heavily against the block of flats had given him enough energy to do this, plus it'd helped the battle of nerve-induced sickness. His footsteps bounce off of the walls as he runs to his door, jamming the keys in.

Quick, quick, quick. Ethan pants as he runs in, the door slamming behind him. Then something is holding him back.

Ethan tugs at his lanyard. He trails it back, looking for the key, and…

He's just gone and shut it in the door. The key is trapped on the other side.

Goddamnit. Ethan rests his head against the wall, wanting to cry. He's trapped in his flat - he'll never get back in time.

He's taking too long.

It's hardly an issue due to their FCEMs being rescheduled, but Cal can't help but be concerned. Many times, he considers calling. Then he imagines the state Ethan could be in and figures he needs to calm down. Alone.

"Will your brother be joining us anytime soon?" It's said sweetly and would fool any newcomers. Cal has been here too long to be tricked by that voice.

"Soon," Cal promises Connie. "He's just gone home for something. He'll be back."

"Good. We've got reports of a fire somewhere near. I imagine we'll be filled."

Cal steps aside as she walks on. Her patience is slipping, he knows this.

 _Come on, Ethan,_ Cal thinks to himself, willing his brother to hear this through telepathy, even though it's unfair. _Pull yourself together._

* * *

Ethan is ignoring all self-respect he has in curling up beside the door. There's no point trying to get out. He's trapped in there.

His eyes fall onto his phone. Ethan considers calling Cal to help him out, but he'll be in the exam room by now. There's no point. He's already ruined their revision, so the least he can do is let Cal get on with the actual exam. He can't ruin that too. He'll miss it, but he was probably going to fail anyway.

Ethan screws his eyes closed and sniffs. This counts as majorly feeling sorry for himself, he's sure. He wants to kick himself. This isn't _him_.

Sniff. Again. Tears are halting. Ethan wrenches his eyes open, his forehead creased. Something smells strange. And not like vomit. He drags himself up into a slumped position against the door, trying to place that smell.

His heart sinks.

It's smoke.

* * *

Half an hour later, several of Cal's patients are in a bad way. He's treated smoke inhalation, superficial burns, and plain terrified people who won't cease shaking. No deaths have been logged yet. Though he hasn't checked properly - he's been too rushed in to even know where this fire is coming from.

"Come on through, please."

She's hysterical. Cal hasn't even gathered her name. She's dressed in a bathrobe, hugging herself, with tears down her ashy face. Cal lifts her chin and restrains a gasp.

"Kerri?"

"Cal," she manages quietly, fighting through sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry!" He says to his neighbour. "You must be so frightened. Getting caught in a fire, well, it's hardly an everyday situation."

Kerri begins to explain, producing these gulping loud sobs that ruin any senses. It's hard to understand; impossible, even.

"Come on now," Cal places his hands on her shoulders softly. All he can hear is anguish filled mumblings, along with rough coughing. He's concerned about her airway.

All that catches his ears is, "flat is gonna be burnt to rubble."

"Flat?"

Kerri looks up at him, a tear sliding off of her sharp nose. "The flat. That's.." she sniffs sadly in remembrance. "That's where it happened."

The flat where he lives. The one where he sent Ethan to.

And it's up in flames.

Cal feels himself start to panic. Racing heart, sunken stomach, the desire to… run. To just run and never stop until he's sure Ethan is okay. That their home isn't like charcoal on the floor, possessions destroyed.

Kerri lives above Cal's flat. If her ramblings are true and that's where the fire started, Ethan is near the worst of it.

 _You better have gotten out. You better. If you're dead, I'm actually going to murder you._

"Excuse me," Cal mumbles before fleeing the cubicle. He walks like a zombie, then he runs, desperately, before crashing straight into Connie.

* * *

"Help me! Someone, please…"

His pleads are lost to coughs, body slumped against the door. Rough and hacking coughs that make his throat sting. It feels like it's being scraped with nails.

Smoke is working its way into his nose. It's a snake, trying to worm through his respiratory system to squeeze the life out of his lungs. He takes wheezing breaths as he pounds against the door. Nobody is there.

Alarms have finally gone off. But no sprinklers. This _place_. Health and safety isn't top notch like he'd always assumed and now he's going to die because of it. Because of something as stupid as that.

Fire is creeping through the flat. It's worked its way here quickly. No messing around. It came to destroy; to kill. It's eating through everything. Curtains, cushions and chairs alike. Table legs are charred and fabric is in tatters on the floor.

Ethan pulls his blue scrub top off. He's left in only his white t-shirt and scrub trousers. The top is a bad colour, really, because it's going to go black when he's burnt alive.

No. _If_ he's burnt alive. Not when. He can still live! He can still make it out. If he moves from this spot, that is, because the fire is coming to the door he rests against. It's headed straight for him.

 _Window. Find a window._

He can't stop to think. All he can do is move - and fast. It's a race against him and time, and he must win. Ethan holds the blue material over his mouth and rushes through the smoke. Breathlessness is labouring. He can barely take air in because it's impure. Desperately, he locks himself in the bathroom - the only unaffected room. Even the front door is burning hot to the touch.

It's no use. Smoke is leaking through the gap in the door. Ethan drags himself to the window, trying to tear it open. No key. Fuck, fuck, he curses… Ethan thinks to himself that it's okay to swear if you're likely to die and nobody is listening.

He remembers he'd taken the key out, just in case Cal got home drunk one day and tried to climb out. That was one of Cal's drunk ramblings ( _"I swear, Ethan, I have wings - I'll step right out and fly!_ "). It was stupid, really, but it made sense at the time. It's all _so_ stupid now. Everything.

The glass is thick. Like transparent rock. He pounds at it with a fist but pain radiates through it. It's unbreakable. He gives it more token hits, desperate and hopeless. Nothing. It isn't opening.

Ethan sinks to the floor. Despite everything, right now, all he wants is Cal beside him. To tell him it's all going to be alright, even if it isn't. He lets out a strangled sob as his vision begins to go black around the edges. But Cal isn't here. That can never happen. It never will. As he begins to lose consciousness, he can hear a faint ringing noise.

His phone. _Cal_.

Ethan tries to reach for it, but he's too weak as he slips against the bathtub. His head hits it and the noise echoes throughout his brain. He lets out a breath, raspy and painful. Then he can't fight it anymore. The darkness is too strong. He is forced into it.

* * *

Cal didn't listen to a word Connie said. He'd leapt into the ambulance beside Iain and Sam and hadn't looked back. Not once. He craned his neck to look ahead and urged them to go faster.

He keeps calling Ethan to be rewarded with nothing. The hope he's got left in him is beginning to die. His chest constricts as they pull up to the block of flats.

It's burnt. That's the better way to put it. From a distance, it looked better. Close up, it looks like hell has come to earth.

The top is charred. It's a gradient, working from black against smoky skies to lower where it's ashy grey. It used to be white. People are sat on the grass as firefighters try to combat the flames, yet nothing else seems to be happening.

Flashes of green uniform, Sam and Iain are lightning quick. They're treating patients - left, right and centre. It's hardly like there's a lack of them. Cal's eyes fall on a coughing man, hacking painfully, and he instinctively knows he should go over, and then he hears the firefighters shouting to eachother.

"Fire's getting worse," one calls regretfully, "and there's still people in there."

"You're not being serious?"

"Mate, I wish I wasn't. It's bad."

Cal rushes forward. "Let me get in there."

The first fireman turns to him. "I'm sorry?"

"My brother. He's in there. I've got to get him."

The second is younger - too young. He shouldn't be here, witnessing all this. His hand rests on Cal's shoulder as he begins to be the grown-up, telling him that, no, he can't go in there.

Then there's a horrendous bang.

"Shit," the older one curses.

"What?" Cal asks, alarmed.

"Boilers are exploding in there."

That's all he needs to know. All he can take. All talk, no damn action. Cal breaks into a run. They're shouting gruffly, though panicked and frantic, ordering him back. Cal doesn't listen. He doesn't listen to anything but the possibility that Ethan might still be alive in there, somehow. It's what makes him run. It keeps him breathing through the flames.

From the inside, the fire has truly done its worst by large black streaks on the walls. As he climbs the stairs, bolting, it's progressively worse. The root of the fire is evidently upstairs. Just as Kerri said. Flames are working their way downwards. Cal passes old neighbours doors, booted open, and hopes they made it out.

Then he reaches his flat. His thoughts are for Ethan now. Only for Ethan.

The lanyard was jammed, evidently. The key is this side, so Cal unlocks it quickly. It burns his hand. There's thick smoke everywhere, restricting his lungs, stealing his breaths like a criminal. Cal covers his mouth with the inside of his elbow, taking one last breath before pushing in. Smoke infects the rest.

Their home is ruined. Nothing is able to be saved. Somehow, he feels loss, panic and pain all at once. Cal rushes through smoke as the heat progresses. He's in an oven. He's walking across the sun. He's fighting for air.

He can't find Ethan.

Cal is panicking. Truly. He's running like he's lost his mind, burning his skin, and it hurts! God, it burns! He cries out in pain that he can't truly feel yet, but the parts he can feel are unbearable. Like his skin is going to melt off. If he didn't have a brother to save, he'd cry. He is too busy to cry. Too preoccupied. He'll weep later when Ethan is safe; he'll rest then.

Cal finds the second to last door. The bathroom. It's the only closed one. _Ethan_. He tries to open it, but it's jammed. Shit. Cal figures Ethan must've gone in there to get out through the window. Oh, no…

"Ethan?" He shouts, bursting into coughs. Smoke burns his throat. It's lined with gasoline and someone has struck a match.

No noise. Come on. Cal begins to hit the door with his shoulder.

"If you…" he fights against the smoke. "If you can hear me… _move_!"

One hit, no luck. Second thump, no joy. Third try. Cal hits it with his shoulder until it's throbbing. Again and again. He loses count. All he can hear is hs mind screaming to get that door open.

Finally, it comes open. The door is weak. Cal is too.

There he is. Ethan is curled on the floor, semi-conscious. His fingers are stretched out to reach his phone. He never managed to reach it. Cal falls to his knees.

"You're alive. You've alive, you're alive, you're…" Cal pushes Ethan's hair back, looking into his eyes. They're heavy-lidded. "I'm going to get you out. I promise."

Something grumbles in the other room. Cal feels his fear intensify.

 _Boilers are exploding in there._

"We gotta get out," Cal pants, then covers his mouth with the spare scrub top that Ethan abandoned. Must have been using it as rag to breathe into. Good idea. He drags off his own thicker jacket and gives it to Ethan, around his mouth, who weakly grabs it. There's fear in Ethan's eyes. He's scared. _So am I, brother._

With a body of lead, Cal tries to lift his brother. On any other occasion this would be easy. Now, it's not. Cal tries again and manages it out of shill willpower.

He trudges through the flat. Everything seems blacker. Like the world is becoming desaturated with the exception of raging red flames. Ethan is heavy in his arms.

The stairs are the hardest part, but he's thankful he reached them. He's dizzy like he's been spun, gripping Ethan close. His body is weak but he can feel Ethan holding onto his shirt, and it gives him strength to keep limping on. _For you. For you, always for you._

Upstairs, there's an almighty bang. That's the boiler gone. Cal breaks into a run as he reaches the end of the staircase, past the crushed bikes on the bottom floor, the tatters of fabric. Ash floats in the air, ironically like rain.

Fresh air envelopes him in an embrace. Cal accepts it, the material falling from his mouth to the floor. He takes in sips of air like it's an antidote. Falling to his knees, he lowers Ethan on a patch of grass. They're far from the flats. Far from danger.

"Cal? God, Cal!" That may be Iain. Or Sam.

"Just… help him," Cal manages to wheeze. He's gripped by the shoulders as they begin to treat his brother, thrust an oxygen mask. Cal is fumbling with it, trying to put it on. He's weak. So weak, and his burns feel like they're aflame despite the fact they're looking superficial.

"Ethan will be fine," someone says to him soothingly. "He will be just fine."

Something in Cal's body just clicks. And his mind. He's at peace. Somehow. He lets himself weaken, falling backwards from his knees into someone's arms. He sees the sky. Then nothing.

* * *

Everything burns. It all hurts. He's made of stone, his mind filled with smoke. Lungs have shrunk, surely, they must've, because air isn't getting in them.

 _Want Cal._

Bright lights guide the way to wherever it is he is going. Somehow, he's moving without using his legs. Without using anything. It's like he's stitched to these sheets. There's someone stroking his arm, so softly, that he could fall asleep again. Maybe.

Ethan wrenches his eyes open as someone puts something on his face. Different oxygen mask. Light fills his vision as he keeps trying to look. It's bright and fresh, a change from dark and suffocating. He remembers dark and suffocating like enemies.

 _There's flames, closing in, and all I'm thinking about is my phone. I want to answer the call. I can't. No air is coming, I'm going to die in here._ He whimpers.

"Don't try and speak - you're alright, we promise you. You're at the hospital now, all safe."

 _I'm alright. I'm alive._

 _I was going to die._

He tries to pull his oxygen mask off, but someone holds his hands. Lots of someone's. The sensation of not knowing who's touching him isn't welcome or comforting, so he feels panicked. He keeps trying to move and they keep holding him down.

Desperately, he tries to call for Cal, but he barely gets half a syllable out before he's coughing violently. People are hushing, doing their best, and he feels sharp things go into his arms. Fresh oxygen. Bright lights, never ceasing. Not closing in; but they might. Ethan is never taking the bright lights for granted ever again. He'll never know when it's all going to go dark.

"We've got you. You'll be fine."

He doesn't want them. He wants Cal. No matter how weak he is, he won't stop until he gets him. It's his own determination that reminds him that he's still alive.

* * *

Cal is roused from sleep quickly. He's thrust a cup of water. Weakly, he holds it, unsure of what to do with it, until he hears a noise. A telephone. Lots of telephones. Talking, too, and footsteps bouncing against walls.

He's at the hospital again.

Charlie is smiling at him. He takes the water, which is dangerously close to sloshing over the floor. Cal confusedly looks down at himself, and he's in a cubicle bed with his blacked clothes still on.

"You're in a lot of trouble, you are."

Cal manages a smile. "I don't even remember why, but I reckon whatever I did was cool." His voice is gravelly.

"You ran into a burning building," Charlie says, eyebrow raised. "It wasn't cool, it was burning."

"Speaking metaphori-" Cal pauses. Burning. Burning building.

He remembers everything. Tiredness and weakness stops blocking his memory. The ambulance ride, jostling them about. Flashes of green. Dialling tone. Abrupt stopping, leaping out, seeing his home alight. People panicking, fire growing, water fighting the flames. His legs running. Up stairs, through doors, breaking doors… picking Ethan up. Carrying him out. An explosion.

Oh, no, the explosion.

Cal is almost scared to ask. He's unsure if he can handle the repercussions of the worst possible answer.

"Don't worry, Cal. You're absolutely fine. Smoke inhalation, but-"

"Ethan," Cal interrupts. He's got to know. He fights his fear and forces the question out. "How's he?"

Charlie doesn't look surprised at Cal's interruption. "Alive."

Cal feels all the air rush out of him. Thank God. Thank everything. Thank whoever is up there, whoever is refusing to take Ethan away from him, thank them. Cal's face aches but he still smiles. Relief could cure him. This happiness could fuel him forever.

The cubicle curtains tear open. It's Connie. "Look at you," she says, vaguely pointing. "You're a state. Don't you dare do something so _idiotic_ , so _reckless_ , so _un_ professional-"

"I won't," Cal says, a huge grin on his face. Connie and Charlie exchange looks. They don't believe him either. Yet they still manage smiles. Even Connie.

"Right, come on, hero of the hour," Charlie says, with only a little sarcasm, "get in the wheelchair - don't even _think_ about arguing - to come and see your brother."

"And I'll warn you, Caleb," Connie says, serious this time, "he's in quite a state."

* * *

Everything is closing in. He feels like he's being shushed. Quietened. Because he is. There's hot tears rolling down his cheeks, stinging the grazes on them, but they're nothing compared to the burning of his skin. His arms, his stomach, everywhere seems to hurt. It's the sort of burn that feels like blades, stinging sharp.

 _So much fire. I hated the fire._

Ethan pictures roaring red flames and grey smoke above it, unable to be dodged, unable to be escaped. Melting skin. Squeezing lungs. Ethan is feeling drowsy but he's still picturing everything, over and over, as they keep on attempting comfort. More tears. They're in constant supply today. In high demand.

Then there's a different voice. Familiar and deeper, yet full of gravel. It sounds like it hurts for them to speak. This person's hand slips into Ethan's. This time, Ethan tightens his grip on this person's' hand. He recognises them.

"I'm here, nibbles."

For the first time today, he feels the anxiety start to ebb away. It's still there, reminding him of everything, mocking and snickering, but the voice is chasing it away. He's calmer. The pain seems to hurt more because he's focusing on that instead of his mind but he can deal with it. The hand squeezes.

Hurts, he tries to say.

"I know it hurts. But it'll stop hurting if you stay nice and still. Let them do their job, okay?"

Ethan feels another hand on his forehead now, from the same person, stroking his hair back. It's soothing. Ethan focuses on breathing instead as needles pierce, cold liquid entering his veins. It's curing the pain.

The voice keeps taking. Comforting words. Ethan listens to them intently, keeping himself frozen in place.

He wants to talk, but he can't. It's impossible. For now, he can't say what he needs to. Instead, he squeezes the persons hand, hoping they can understand what he's trying to say.

 _Thank you, Cal._

* * *

Cal spends hours by his bedside. Charlie tells him off for it, but he can't drag Cal away. He knows better. They both know Cal won't leave Ethan without a fight.

He's meant to be resting in the bed by Ethan's, in the ward they've been put in, but he stays on the wooden chair instead. Cal rests his tired head on the white sheets and stares up at his brother.

"I'd do the whole 'you're my safety net' speech again," Cal starts, "but I'm losing my voice as it is. Plus, you don't want to hear that." Cal lifts his hand, stroking Ethan's arm. There's bandages around it.

Ethan's burns could've been worse. Luckily it was just the smoke that did the most damage. There will be no scarring. No physical marks of reminder.

Cal ignores the fact his throat aches. "You know, you're better at being a safety net than I am. You always catch me. Always. Me? I _send_ you to danger. God. What if I hadn't got you out? What then?"

Cal watches as Ethan's hands unclench. Then re-clench. Cal slides his fingers into them.

"Hey, quicker wake up time than last time. You're getting good at bouncing back."

Ethan weakly pulls his other hand up, dragging the oxygen mask off. He takes a few moments. Cal waits expectantly for him to speak.

Maybe he'll be angry at Cal. He might blame him for the fact he was there, for the argument as a whole. Maybe it was Cal's fault that the lanyard got jammed - after all, Cal suggested getting one as the teeny fiddly key always got lost on its own - and Ethan blames him that he was almost trapped and burnt alive.

Or maybe he's upset. Too upset to want Cal there. Maybe he'll want someone else - Charlie, Lily, anyone. He might even prefer Mr Hanssen to Cal.

Ethan parts his lips. Cal gets ready to be shouted at. For the tears and the banishing and the silent anger as they curl up in separate beds, alone, stoniness awaiting them the subsequent morning.

And then,

"Ou... _uch_."

His voice is more of a whisper. Cal barely heard it. But as soon as he hears, he starts to laugh, and when he starts, Ethan smiles. It's a painful smile, more of a grimace, but it's for Cal.

"N-Not your fault," Ethan manages.

"I'm sure parts of it were," Cal says. But he smiles anyway.

"So… No s-safety net speech?"

"Thought I'd save myself the embarrassment this time."

"Oh," Ethan mumbles. Weak. Still smiling. Even in his evident pain.

"Unless you want me to go into it."

"Save… save voice."

Cal tightens his grip on Ethan's hand. "I will. You want water?"

Ethan moves his head in a motion that could be a head shake. Cal puts two and two together, deciding it is.

Cal is trying to work out the right words to say - something condensed, to additionally, as Ethan said, 'save voice', because wow; he's exhausted. Today has been challenging. Brushing death always is.

No words spring to mind. He watches Ethan, face scrunched slightly with pain, and feels his heart squeeze. It's so full. So relieved and happy and glad. He believes deeply that he'll never be angry with Ethan again. He'll never _not_ ask if he's okay - because both of them could've died today. Life is too easily snatched away to waste with these sort of ridiculous inhibitions.

"Are you okay, Ethan?"

Ethan moves in a nodding way. His eyes are lying. Cal squeezes his hand, smiling, in reminder that he knows Ethan. He can't be fooled. He can sense lies. And then Ethan shakes his head.

"Yeah, well, I mean... you almost died. You're hardly going to be fine."

Ethan mouths 'the exam'. His breathing is getting laboured, so Cal places the oxygen mask back on his face.

"Deep breaths," Cal says softly. "Come on. The exam? Ethan, you'll ace it. Obviously, you can't sit it today anymore, but… you'll bomb it. I know you will."

That's not enough. Cal knows it's not enough. Ethan turns more onto his back, blinking upwards, and there's tears shining in his eyes.

"You should've come to me. You can always come to me. Stop trying to take it all by yourself, all this fear of failure, all these nerves. I can't take them away, obviously. But I can hold your hand. Just like you hold mine," he tightens his grip. "I'm sorry I didn't try to help before. I shouldn't have been impatient."

Ethan squirms, likely to tell Cal that it's all fine, and it's not his fault, to stop this ridiculous self-blame. And that he's fine, really. Cal can read him like a book. He shushes him.

"Hey. Listen to me. It doesn't matter how old we get. If we get wives, move away, have our own families… you'll always be my brother. I'll always keep you safe, make you feel better," he says. "Whether it's about stupid bloody exams or crazy flat fires."

Ethan closes his eyes and there's a nod. Cal strokes his thumb on their joined hands.

"There we go. No more tears." He vaguely remembers saying something similar to a five-year-old Ethan, and nostalgia aches in his chest.

Then he manages another weary laugh. "You almost died today," Cal says, humor covering the heaviness of those words. "And you're stressed about an exam? Ethan… you are something else!"

Ethan pulls his oxygen mask again. Cal readies himself to put it back on. "Did you s-seriously expect anything else from me?"

Cal smiles. "No. But I'd like you to sleep well tonight. No sick. No worrying. Just sleep."

"Sleep," Ethan whispers to himself. "Sleep sounds nice."

"It always does, doesn't it?"

"Will you… will you s-" he takes in a sharp breath. "Ouch."

"Of course I'll stay," Cal says quietly.

* * *

Cal wakes up a couple hours later - gently shaken awake - with a vague red mark on his arm from where his head had been. It's suspiciously wet. He wasn't sleeping, as such; more closing his eyes, slipping out of consciousness occasionally, whilst drooling.

Ethan is asleep in bed. Peacefully. His hand is around Cal's, even in slumber. Like he's never going to let go. And his forehead remains un-creased, mouth in a slight pout. Solaced.

It's the first time Ethan has lost consciousness and been entirely, wholly and fully comfortable. And it warms Cal's heart. In a day - a few days actually - of awful smoke-induced slumbers, it's good to see Ethan relaxed this way. He seems fifteen again, youthful and pure; though even Ethan managed to worry like it was a hobby when he was fifteen, but that's just him. It'll always be him. Just like Cal will always be there to hold his hand when it ties his stomach in knots and makes him cry.

There's a soft hand on Cal's shoulder now.

"Asleep, are we?"

"No," Cal says to Connie, defiantly.

"I just came to tell you that you've both slept through your FCEMs." Connie doesn't seem to grasp this as an issue. "Though, what with today, I didn't think you'd be up for them."

Cal is more than up for them. He's ready. Confident and assured. If he doesn't pass, he'll do it again and again until he does. Even if he ends up on first name terms with the examiner before he does. Even if he's fifty.

But he isn't prepared to leave this room. He isn't prepared to leave any room with Ethan in it. And Connie knows this.

"There's always next year," Cal says, looking at Ethan's peaceful face.

"That's what I figured you'd say."

"It's the right choice?"

Connie smiles. It's soft. Gentle. The opposite of Connie - a kitten movement when she's more similar to a lion. Cal likes it. "You're the type to make choices with your heart. And your heart is always in the right place."

Cal keeps his eyes back on Ethan; fast asleep. "For him, I've got to keep it there."

* * *

 _Fin._

* * *

 **casfics:** _THANK YOU!_

 **20BlueRoses:** _You. Are. Making. Me. BLUSH. Ah thank you so much! I was hoping someone would appreciate the mentions of Cal. The grave scene was very sad but fun, I'll never tire of writing them together. God yes, the memories... That's awesome that you liked the characters in this of you're usually un-bothered by them; I'm glad it came across in a nice family, supportive, team-type setting. Definitely a sensitive subject, hard to think about even but I'm relieved it wasn't insensitive, the metaphor was a last minute three AM idea! Glad you liked the way it ended. Thank you so very much for your review, they're always so nicely worded :)_

 **Bonnie Sveen Fan:** _So happy you enjoyed it - you're very welcome! Haha happy the Ethan scene was a success, totally wasn't based on a true story or anything... (OUCH) ooh cool! Happy you liked the story and reasons why she turned to drinking! Again you're so welcome - thank you for your review and your lovely PMs, makes me smile!_


	6. Anon: The Process Of Remembering

_**Request:** Anon._

 _ **Characters (in order of most featured):** Ethan Hardy, Caleb Knight, Connie Beauchamp, Rash Masum, Charlie Fairhead, Alicia Munroe._

 _ **Rating:** T._

 _ **Warnings:** Blood, mention of suicide, self-inflicted harm, nightmares, stitches, and death mentions, blah blah typical stuff from me._

 **Prompt:** _Ethan goes 'mad'._

Next after this, prompted by guest, "Set back in 2014. Cal and Ethan are at the ED - Ethan has been their work longer - and Cal arrives. Cal is shy, quiet and taking their mother's death hard. Ethan basically helps Cal settle into work and make friends."

* * *

 _They're looking at him. All of them, with identical expressions he hasn't seen before. To an untrained eye, they simply look like overworked medics. To Ethan, he knows them, and can read those expressions accurately; they look traumatised, apologetic, and the atmosphere is desolate. It's different_ to _how he left this place. It's a bad different._

 _They say words in response to a question that falls from his lips, out of habit, out of necessity to know without even realizing he was going to inquire about the best person in his life. And the reply is bad so he goes to see for himself, and his chest crumbles inside. Like a stack of cards._

 _He throws himself over the bed and he weeps as though nobody is listening. Everybody is. They are all a witness to his sudden grief. All he thinks, as streams of tears pool around the purple indents under his eyes from exhaustion, is how awful it is to love something that death can claim anytime it wants. He is being punished now. Punished for his stupidity to love._

When Ethan awakes, it is slow. No fast jump. Not with a racing heart rate. With calm. It's the same recurring dream, and although he does tend to awake in tears, he has somehow grown used to it and swipes them away from underneath his eyes. They're swollen, and his pillow is wet.

Just like he has grown a habit to, he lifts himself from the bed and begins to creak along the floor of his bedroom. Under his tired hands, the door handle is pushed, and he leaves the room. His flat is entirely dark, as expected of nighttime; no mess, no beer cans left out, the television switched off. Ethan keeps it clean nowadays. His colleagues tend to come over randomly and get concerned if there's any type of mess, like he isn't coping. Ethan doesn't understand why - it's never Ethan's mess.

He opens the bedroom door. The owner of occasional messes is tucked asleep in bed, grey bedsheets clasped to their chest. They are shadowy, but they are there. There's a glass half full of water on the dresser. He breathes out, but he's not surprised that this person is okay. Because they're always okay, even if they're drunk, watching night-time television, or making messes for Ethan to clean up. They are always and perpetually okay.

Ethan smiles, and carefully pulls the door closed again as he says quietly to the sleeping body of his brother, "goodnight, Cal. I love you."

* * *

 _"I think he's very lonely. Lonelier than he lets on. Maybe lonelier than he even realises." - The Royal Tenenbaums, 2001._

* * *

 **The Process Of Remembering**

* * *

The first person Ethan sees, as he enters the hospital for his evening shift, is crying into their hands. Their back is hunched and their face is stained with grief. Ethan offers a short smile of sympathy but doesn't say a word.

 _You always know it's a bad shift,_ Ethan texts into his phone, _when someone is crying hysterically at, what, 6 in the evening?_

His phone chimes immediately. _That's my mood right now. Hysterical crying._

 _Buy more cereal. I'm not in the mood to listen to you guilt-trip me._

 _I had to go hungry this morning. Happy with yourself?_

Ethan smiles at some colleagues as he walks by, offering good evenings. They don't smile back. Ethan's chest experiences the familiar crumble, like the one in his recurring dreams, the ones he hasn't told anybody about. _I think something has happened._

 _...Explain?_

He opens his locker and leans on it. _Nevermind. They're all a bit frosty._

 _I texted them that you stole my breakfast. It's a display of solidarity!_

The corners of Ethan's mouth pull up. _Funny. Shouldn't you be at training?_

 _I'm on a late one. Very late. But it's a short session._

 _Good for some._

 _I'll be home in time to cook us matching Thursday night specials, don't you worry._

 _'Cook' may be the wrong word. It's a crisp sandwich. Honestly._

 _I'm a chef, do not underestimate my culinary genius._

 _Coming from the one who burnt three slices of toast the other day._

 _Go away. You're eating up my phone data._

The staff room door pushes open gently. It's Connie, and she looks older than she should. Older than she did yesterday. Older than she ever has. "Ethan," she says, instead of Dr Hardy as the used to. "A little word in my office, please?" She's talking so quietly; as if there's a stack of cards nearby and she doesn't want to breathe too hard in case it caves in.

"Of course. I'll just get changed."

Once he's left alone, Ethan quickly types out a text.

 _Have a good day, Cal._

 _You too, nerd._

* * *

For some unheard of reason, he's being greeted with the careful side of Connie that rarely comes out. It usually takes grievous circumstances for her to look at him like _that_. Ethan takes a seat and notes the box of tissues against an unsteady tower of paperwork. The writing is untidy. That's out of the ordinary for Connie, who breathes organization, and stamps out carelessness like it's a weed.

"Are you sure you're up for working today?" It's the first statement she asks, and it's unexpected.

Ethan blinks. "Entirely." He doesn't understand why he wouldn't be.

"You've been out of work for a while, since what happened, and I think it'd be easier to get into it slowly. Night shifts are always draining for even the most experienced of us."

Vaguely, Ethan remembers a conversation with Cal concerning this. Since a messy relationship mishap with Alicia, it's as though the department thinks he's unstable. That's evidently what Connie is getting herself tied up about.

"Nobody would think any less of you for having a short break. Everybody would understand. It's natural."

"It's been a few weeks," Ethan notes, "and relationships don't always last. I appreciate your concern, honestly, but I don't think it's worth the trouble. I'm over it."

Connie's expression changes. "I think we're having two different conversations."

Ethan just wants this conversation, or both of them, to finish. He's here to work, saving lives whilst he's at it, and that's what he wants to get on with. None of _this_. "Truly, Mrs Beachaump, I promise I'm fine."

This seems to be accepted more easily from her. He is predictable, evidently. Connie laces her fingers together, putting them on the desk. "Let's think of it this way," she says. "If you had a broken leg, you wouldn't keep putting pressure on it. It's the same with anything else. If it hurts, we take time out."

"I'm absolutely fi-"

The door slams open. It's the loudest noise Ethan has heard in this department of silence, so he flinches violently.

"We're busy," Connie snaps.

"I'm sorry, I know this is horribly inappropriate," says a skittish agency nurse. "But there's been a, uh... stabbing."

 _He pushes that door open and as he does, the bones in his legs disappear. Pain doesn't register as he falls. The ground isn't hard. The air isn't there. All he can see is a mess, right in that bay ahead of him, and that one horrible word in his head. A ringing in his ears. No, no. Please, no-_

Ethan shakes his head quickly. Panic rises in his chest, like a clamp is on his air supply, but he suppresses it immediately. This hasn't happened before. Nightmares happen during sleeping, not in the day. Ethan draws a typical expression on his face for the sake of others.

Her eyebrows raise, and then she does.

"Wait here. I'll sort this."

Ethan waits until the sound of her leaving is nothing more than an echo. Then he gets up, and heads to work. They can talk later. He has to save lives now.

* * *

Two elderly gastroenteritis patients, one female teenager with infected and self-inflicted cuts, a man with an amputated finger later, and Ethan is finally on break. Fortunately, Connie hasn't tried to snatch him back to her office and his colleagues have mainly left him alone. Evidently, he seems like a man on a mission and nobody messes with anybody like that.

 _"-how's it going now?"_

Ethan leans against the wall outside of the hospital. It's a pokey little alley but it offers respite from being worried that Connie will take him. She never goes down here. "Honestly," he begins, "it's fine."

 _"Yeah, alright. Now tell me how everything is going without the lie."_

"I don't know, Cal," he says and punctuates it with a sigh. "Let's just say I can't wait to get home. How's your day going?"

 _"Average. I've chopped so many people open that I feel like a murderer."_

Ethan manages a laugh at that. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he stops as someone meets eyes with him, walking over. "Sorry, one moment."

Rash's hands are thrust inside his pockets. "What are you doing, standing out in the rain?" He's grinning. Newbie, green as a leaf, Rash smiles a lot. Ethan quite likes him.

"Getting away from the smell of vomit, blood and coffee grounds," Ethan says, "they don't go too well when mixed together."

Rash laughs. "Fair enough. I'll go away in case the smell is on me!" He begins walking off. Then he stops. "Wow, I can't believe I just- I forgot, Connie wants to talk to you."

Ethan holds his phone up, still sheltering it from the slight drizzle of raindrops. "Kinda tied-up right now. It's my brother."

"I'll let her know you're busy. Don't take too long coming in, or it'll be your funeral."

 _He remembers clambering up to the pew, everybody's eyes staring at him. It smells like heartbreak and fresh flowers._

 _As he tries to find_ his _words, a sob builds up in his throat. This shouldn't be happening. It can't be. Ethan traces shapes on his wrist and tries to tell the world about what they're missing, with his vision blurred, because he's not wearing glasses and he's crying. The old Ethan wore glasses. The new one collapses to his knees and has to be taken aside by older colleagues, who lie and say everything will be okay._

"Are you okay?"

Ethan clamps his hand to his forehead. "Yeah, headache. Get inside, you're soaked!"

Rash does as he's told. Ethan tells Cal sorry and hangs up. He'll call him back later.

* * *

It's when he's trying to stitch a patient's arm - the nurse who _was_ doing it has a phobia of blood, which... is ironic - when he's bombarded with different images.

 _A scrub top stained with blood._

 _His colleagues, arms around his shoulder, guiding him out of rooms so his knees won't buckle._

 _Waking in the middle of the night, keeping it a secret._

 _Blood, everywhere, choking him, filling his lungs._

 _A bouquet of flowers and a million goodbyes._

"I am so sorry," Ethan says and stumbles back. "I'll get someone else to finish this for you."

Ethan drags the cubicle curtain closed and walks away, hand clamped over his thumping heart. When he brings it away, he notices his fingers are smeared with blood from the patient. Nausea rises.

* * *

"It's a horrible anniversary of a horrible thing, and you must be devastated."

Ethan doesn't understand. He doesn't know what she's talking about, and there are a thousand thoughts floating around his brain at once.

He never wanted this talk with her. But evidently he's being forced to. "Can I get back to work now?"

"I'm just saying that, since what happened, you know, after we all said our goodbyes-"

Ethan pushes out of his chair. "Please," he says, "let me go."

Begrudgingly, she meets his eye. "Ethan," she says, "I'd like you to go home."

"I haven't done anything wrong! Please, let me get on, and save lives, like I'm meant to do. Like we all should be doing."

* * *

Ethan spends half an hour outside, calling his brother before dissolving into tears. He's scared and shaky and confused and he just wants a hug.

Afterwards, he heads back to work. Everyone is staring at him. He hates that.

It's all okay. Ethan wishes they'd all move on from staring. There's a heaviness that everyone seems to have over their shoulders.

Ethan is feeling more like himself after a good sob. Empathetic and a good listener. When he spots Rash, back hunched as he miserably stares into a coffee cup, Ethan bounds over.

"Everything alright?"

"No."

Ethan takes a seat beside Rash on the staff room stool. "You know," he says, "everyone will notice something is wrong if you walk around with a face like that. Likely Charlie."

Rash shrugs. "Whatever."

"You can talk to him. I doubt he'll give you a choice," Ethan pauses. "Or, you can talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to anyone," Rash says in a grumble.

"You were fine earlier!"

"Yeah, and then I asked someone on a date."

"Oh." That can't be good.

He's about to start spouting some heartbreak relieving cliches when Rash starts to talk. "I thought she liked me. I like her! It all got ruined before it even started. We'd barely begun our date before it all went wrong. You know what? I think I'll be alone forever."

"Rash, if you're alone forever, there's no hope for the rest of us. You're going to make someone happy one day. That's because you're a decent person. Gemma is missing out."

"How'd you know it was Gemma?"

"Just a hunch."

Rash sighs out a lungful. "It was so embarrassing. I just wanted to impress her. I wore a suit and tie and everything!"

"Start from the beginning. What happened?"

"I dunno. I told her to meet me outside. I was all smart and I got her some strawberries for a present. I tried to ask her out, but the words just wouldn't come." Rash sighed. "She hated the rain, and so I said we should get a coffee."

"Coffee sounds good," Ethan says encouragingly. He's trying to be positive but he knows this isn't going to end well from Rash's reddened cheeks and hesitance to elaborate.

As if it's painful, Rash continues. "My car wouldn't start. I tried to fix it but I couldn't even open the bonnet. Gemma fixed it in the end and got her clothes all dirty. I said I'd buy her a new pair of jeans but she said it didn't matter." Rash groaned. "Then she said she didn't really like me in that way, when I managed to get the words out, and walked off."

"That doesn't sound like the best time."

"It was the worst! It's been an hour and I'm still not over it, and I never will be!" Rash says dramatically. Ethan bites the inside of his cheeks to stop him from smiling but Rash notices. "Oh, don't laugh! I wanted to die the whole time."

"I'm not laughing at what happened, that sounds... awful. Just your reaction. Rash, it's just one person. She's one girl in a line of hundreds, and if she didn't even try to make you feel better after all the mishaps then you're not a good match. If it was the other way round, how would you have acted?"

"Tried to make jokes. Said the splattered to didn't matter. Walked to the coffee store together to try and make her feel better- oh, I don't know. I might've acted the same way. I was awful."

"Only because you were so nervous! And that should show Gemma you care about her enough to make the hugest mess of everything. You were so worried about messing it up because you liked her so much."

Rash shrugs. "I suppose."

"I'm not too good at this," Ethan says. "But my brother, Cal, he is. I warn you that he might laugh. But he'll make you feel tonnes better. Might even be able to set you up with someone."

"I didn't know you had a brother."

"He's my big brother," Ethan says it with a glow of pride. "He's a doctor. Though he'll be a surgeon soon or training upstairs to be, anyway. So he's quite busy. You might not have crossed paths. I'll text you his number, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Ethan rises, giving Rash a few shoulder pats for good measure. "Alright?"

"I'm alright," Rash says, giving Ethan a bad attempt at a smile. But at least his eyes smile too. He seems better, even fractionally. "Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it."

Ethan walk away, feeling satisfied with what he's done. He's saved a life, in a way; or made one better. Even fractionally. We all have the ability to do that. The opportunity to make someone's day is so remarkable.

People look at him. He stops by the Admin desk, staring them all right in the eye.

And then there's these people. The ones who stare and look at him like he warrants those sort of expressions. As though he's broke.

These ones make him angry; because he's confused and scared and nightmares seem to be flooding into his daytime.

"Ethan, we're going to the pub for... you know. Just to pay respects. Are you coming?"

"No." He says. It all silences. He said that 'no' so viciously that he didn't recognise it.

"Oh," Charlie says. "Alright."

Connie comes from behind him. "A word, please. Your patient. She said you were going to get someone else to stitch her arm but you forgot about her."

Agh, shit. Ethan groans. "Sorry, I'll get to it."

"You're entirely incompetent when you're in this state. Go home. Get some rest."

Something seemingly snaps. More than before.

He is just living his life and they keep making it out like he's not fine. Ethan is angry.

"You know what?" Ethan turns to her. "Maybe I'd be able to find someone to stitch her arm if you didn't keep calling me away to have stupid talks about stupid things I don't understand!"

Charlie's hand settles on his shoulder. Ethan pulls it off - roughly.

"Let's have this talk in my office," Connie says, like Ethan is Grace, a hint that people are watching. They are. They're witnesses to this, witnesses as he tears into her.

"You keep acting like something awful has happened and I don't understand. You're making it out like I'm mad. Like I'm about to fall apart when all that happened was that I broke up with Alicia!"

"That's not what happened and you know it."

"I don't know it! I don't know it at all! I'm so _confused_."

"Ethan," Charlie interrupts. "Calm down, alright?"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should go home." Ethan slams his stethoscope onto the desk. "Evidently nothing I say or do is going to work, because you've got it in your head that I'm-"

Connie steps forward, and holds his wrist. She turns his arm over. "Look at your arm. Remember that?"

Ethan pulls it out of her grasp and walks away without looking.

"Don't let him do anything stupid."

"Ethan!"

He ignores them calling. He pushes the department doors open and resolves never to return.

Roughly, he rubs at the arm she held, trying to get the feeling of her touch off of him. He doesn't understand why he's so angry, but he doesn't want the feeling of her hand ghosting on his.

Weirdly, there's a bump on his arm. Like a scab. Raised skin. Ethan's brow furrows and he stops by a pillar outside, rain soaking his scrubs. He's cold. He's confused.

He stares down at his arm.

There's a long, healed over slit running from his inner elbow to the beginning of his palm.

He isn't confused anymore. He remembers now.

* * *

"Oh, cheer up, Rash," Bea exclaims. "She's just a girl, and honestly, I had money on the fact it'd be a disaster to ask her out. Wow, imagine how bad a date would've gone!"

Rash rolls his eyes as everyone laughs. He likes to think they're not laughing at his expense. Honestly, he'd probably find this funny too if he wasn't mortified and heartbroken. "I really thought it'd work."

"Don't worry, mate," Iain claps his shoulder. "Gem is over it. Was over it the moment she came over to see me to complain about her messed up clothes, actually." He's trying to be kind but he's smirking.

"You lot have no sympathy!"

"We find your emotional turmoil hilarious," Bea says.

Rash hates them ribbing him, of course he does, but it's nice to see them all smiling. He heard the shouting from Admin earlier, with Ethan's sudden absence, and is glad that this serves as some sort of distraction for whatever happened.

Rash leans against the fridge. He's determined to clear Ethan's name. It's never nice, for one mistake to ruin everything, and that's all the deal at Admin was. "Yeah, well, at least one of you is sympathetic."

"Who's that?"

"Ethan," Rash says. "He didn't laugh. He was actually nice about it." The first statement might be a stretch but at least he got some form of comfort.

Charlie meets Alicia's eye, and they look at eachother "Right," Charlie says.

"Hmm," Alicia folds her arms over her chest. "So he can talk, then. Spends half his time mute. Or tearing strips out of people trying to help."

Rash realises this is having the opposite effect and changes the subject quickly. "I'd better go and text Ethan, actually. This number he gave me isn't working."

Alicia stops him. "What number?"

"Well, he said he wasn't too good at all this relationship stuff or whatever, when we were talking about it. So he texted me his brother's number."

"Why the hell would he do that? That... that number doesn't work anymore."

"Maybe Cal's phone is just switched off," Rash says. "Ethan said he's busy a lot. Training to be a surgeon."

"Oh, God," Alicia whispers.

"What?"

"Do you never read the news?" Alicia asks. "Something happened with one of the doctors here, and..."

"No. I never read it. It's too sad, and I hate being sad." Rash tries to find clues. "Come on, someone explain?"

Nobody explains. A palpable silence settles over them all. All light-heartedness has gone, entirely. Alicia looks like she's going to be sick. Charlie is pale. Everyone else is staring at the floor.

"The number must work. Ethan probably just gave me a digit wrong or something. Cal's number must work, because Ethan was talking on the phone to him earlier."

"Oh no," Charlie says, and immediately begins rifling for his own phone. "Bea, get Connie." She runs off, confused, doing as she's told.

"WHat's wrong?" Rash says, oblivious to the reason of the growing panic. "What's happened?

"Rash," Alicia says quietly when nobody else does. "Ethan's brother has been dead for over a year now."

* * *

 _In a moment, his world is shattered._

 _The same person who taught Ethan to walk, shave, and drive, died on the 29th of April, and the universe went off of balance for a bit. Ethan had cried into his brother's lifeless chest and then he'd allowed himself to be taken to the staff room, where he sat, emotionless and alone. Forever alone. Then he went home with Alicia to a place that was tainted with a ghost. He had rested his head in her lap and broken down._

 _The funeral happens and he can't do it. He writes out a speech but he can't get the words out when he's up there. The whisky helped to loosen him up, but the fingers down his throat had gotten the full effects of the alcohol out. So he was half-drunk, half-heartbroken, talking to his colleagues about a gap that could never be filled. He recited a platonic love letter to his brother and then been supported away from the place near his brother's body._

 _Work was a mess and so was Ethan. He saw memories everywhere, stained in the walls, stained in the bay four bed which was once just another bed, stained in the place he used to walk alongside his brother. he fell apart repeatedly and eventually decided to make it all stop. It all had to stop._

 _The long line down his arm was what almost claimed his life. Alicia saved him with a flannel tied around the wound. They went to the hospital and he got treated by terrified colleagues. They were understaffed. Nobody wanted to treat him because it hurt to much to see so Ethan was left alone, mostly, a couple stitches in his arm, keeping him from bleeding out._

 _He hated Alicia for saving his life so he left her under the guise of being a shitty boyfriend. Alicia, by that point, was glad to see the back of him. And from then on, he blamed every tear on their break-up. He was forced to take time off of work and he spent the time convincing himself that he wasn't brotherless. That his brother was sleeping next door forevermore whilst Ethan had nightmares about losing him._

 _The world was shattered over a year ago, and he's still stepping in the pieces even now._

Right this moment, he is hunched over a stone grave with his brother's birthdate and death date carved into it.

He can't believe he managed to create the alternate universe that he wanted. It's crumbling, now. The world as he knows it is destroyed because it never existed.

"I thought you'd be here."

Ethan turns, tears dripping down his nose. His chest is crumbling, like the way it does in his dreams.

Except they're not dreams. They are memories. His chest hurts even more.

Rash stands with his phone flashlight in his hand. Just then, Ethan remembers that it's dark out. There are a few distant streetlamps with amber light glowing off of them, over graves of loved ones. Rash's face is lit up by his phone flashlight, and he looks worried, but not as though he thinks Ethan is a patient who flew the coop.

"They said that this is where Cal was buried," Rash explains. He's got his Holby City jacket hood pulled up, and his glasses are in his hand. "I figured you-"

"I used to have glasses like that," Ethan says. He reaches his hand out, and Rash gives them to Ethan normally. Not too carefully. Not like too much pressure will cause him to break. Normally.

Ethan turns them over in his hands. A tear falls onto it.

"Oh, Ethan."

"They were my favourites," Ethan says. "I needed glasses when I was young, and they didn't suit me. Round, owly ones with metal frames. I hated the way it looked. When my prescription got worse, I went to get a second pair." Ethan looks down at them, memories flooding back, like the tide always does. "Cal chose these ones. Thick framed glasses which took me ages to grow into. I liked them, and I wasn't sure why, because I've always hated the fact I needed glasses."

"Maybe you realised the reason you liked them was because your brother chose them."

Ethan nods. He'd love anything with his brother's stamp on it. Then he holds the glasses to his heart and lets himself break.

"I really thought he was alive," Ethan sobs as Rash kneels beside him, arm around his shoulders. "We were texting this evening, and phoning at night. I see him head off for work and I see him come home. Every night, I have nightmares that h-he's dead, that the blood staining him drowns me." Ethan catches his reflection in the glasses, from the flashlight that Rash brought, and it's unfortunate. "He's dead," Ethan whispers, "and I had no idea."

"That's why you were shouting earlier?"

"Yeah. At everyone. Connie was just trying to help, because it's been a year since he died. I didn't remember, I didn't know!"

"This must be really hard. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Ethan sniffs. And then he laughs, because even in grief, he pretends what is not true.

"Ethan," Rash says gently, interrupting the hiccupy-laugh-sobs. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"Yeah. I know."

"Do you want to stay here for a little while though?"

Ethan puts his hand on the gravestone. He could. He could stay for as long as he liked, Rash's arm draped around his shoulders, and wear Rash's glasses. He could pretend that he was the old Ethan again and that he had his brother's arm around him. He could pretend that this is his mother's grave instead. Like this is the first time him and Cal went to the graveyard forever, and stood over mum's grave, and then stayed there until they were shivering and trying not to cry. He could pretend to be that way again.

But he ought to be done pretending by now.

"I found him." Ethan knows that Rash isn't talking to him, and after a momentary lapse of confusion, he realises that they have company.

Charlie, Connie, hunched under an umbrella. Alicia too, under her own, and they look sad. Sad for him, sad for the situation, sad for everything wrong in the world.

"Come on," Charlie says gently. "It's time to go."

Rash helps Ethan up, and he doesn't let go. They walk down the bumpy grass of the graveyard, and Ethan trusts Rash not to let him fall.

Once they get into a taxi, Ethan offers his phone to Charlie. He looks confused but accepts it.

"I used to use it to call Cal," Ethan says quietly. "But he's gone now, isn't he?"

"He's been gone for a long time. I'm very sorry."

Ethan nods, staring down at his arm. It's scarred, just like him, and he remembers the way it felt. It feels like opening his eyes for the first time as he recalls all these memories.

Then he says something he should've said a long time ago. "Thanks, Alicia," he says. "You know, for saving my life, back then."

"You're welcome," she says, as breezily as she can manage. "Just never make me do it again."

"I won't. Promise." He looks up at Connie. "Sorry for shouting."

"I know you are," she says, and then she squeezes his shoulder.

The graveyard disappears from out of the window and is replaced by familiar streets of Holby. Ethan looks down at his hands, still holding Rash's old glasses.

It hurts. So much. He misses Cal like a boot to the chest and he wonders if he'll ever stop going through the motions of hysteria and then casual tears rolling. But he remembers what they used to have, how his life used to be, and he's grateful for that, at least. He loves the person he was. Maybe he could be that person again one day, the one Cal adored.

Here's to the old Ethan.

No, even better. Here's to Cal. The person who chose those black-framed glasses out. The one who saved Ethan's life numerous times and would do it all over again. The one who Ethan will always miss, perpetually and always. Caleb Knight left his stamp on the world. Ethan doesn't want to forget him. Not ever. And he won't.

"I miss him so much."

Nobody answers. They all stare at their knees.

Despite the pain, Ethan is glad he misses Cal. Grief will always be with him - and that means Cal will too, even if it's in the form of memories.

He looks up at the moon in the sky, out of the window. They pull up to the hospital and it hangs in the air, around wisps of clouds and surrounded with stars. The same moon they used to look at together. Wherever Cal is, hopefully he is looking at that same moon, with the same thing on his mind as Ethan.

 _Goodnight, brother. I love you._

* * *

 **InfinityAndOne (ch5):** _Haha yes a relatable phrase, unfortunately, but one that is true. I'm so glad you liked it. Thank you for your review!_

 **InfinityAndOne (ch3):** _The layout was something I was kinda happy with so I'm pleased you liked it! The metaphor was definitely Ethan being very... Ethan, I thought it was the sort of thing he'd say. Really relieved to hear it was done justice as it's such an important topic. You're the best - thank you for your review!_

 **20BlueRoses:** _Both hurt but ending up okay is one of the best things in the world, I agree! I'm so pleased you liked the writing. Thank you so much for your review!_


	7. Bronny9: Bottling It

**Request** : _PM from Bronny9 (you're an angel, thank you for your saint-like patience)_

 **Characters** **(in order of most featured)** : _Caleb Knight, Ethan Hardy, Jacob Masters, Robyn Miller, David Hardy. Mention of Will Noble and Charlie Fairhead._

 **Rating** : _K+_

 **Warnings** : _Alcohol references and anxiety. Vague references of self-harm. Blood and injury (not too in detail though)._

 **Prompt** : _Through childhood to adulthood, Caleb relied on Ethan heavily to get through everyday life. Caleb managed to cope, getting on with life on a different path than he'd hoped, when the boat was rocked by an argument. A radio silence ensued until something awful occurs with almost fatal consequences and they're forced to face the music._

 _a/n: this is... ridiculously long. i hated how it was going at first but after a few hours, it started to get better and i found more avenues to explore. i hope it doesn't drag or anything... i feel like it's not my finest work or the most subtle, but it took me the best part of today so i wanna share it! just a note: if there's any mistakes, go easy on me, i've been looking over this same piece for hours and my eyes aren't quite as awake as they were when i started :'DDD_

* * *

 **Bottling It**

Amber light wormed through the slit in the blinds. Irked, David Hardy twitched it. The blinds ceased to perform to the impeccable standard he willed them to. Muttering something about little hands messing with them, stark light flooded the room quite suddenly. Caleb Hardy found himself blinking away the white blurs and felt that he'd done something incorrectly.

Through squinted blue eyes, he could see the delicate bundle in his mother's arms. It wriggled, a fragile little wrist attached to a tinier hand, made into a fist, desperate to get from the cramped confines of the towel. At the tender age of two, Caleb had a limited understanding of babies being fragile, temperamental or even just incapable of conversation. It was odd to him how there was absolutely no explanation for the new and confusing arrival in the household. He bounded right up to it, for David Hardy to stand defensively in guard.

"I won't have your grubby hands over him. He's only a few hours old."

"Leave him be, David. He's a baby too, you know."

"Great boys of two years old should know the difference between a baby and a toy."

"Nonsense," his mother ushered Caleb to her side. He nestled into her, angled to envelope both him and the baby in her arms. "This is your baby brother, Caleb. What do you think we should call him? He's got lovely brown eyes."

Caleb watched his father's cautious glance. "Don't know," he said, thumb in mouth.

"You're going to be saying that name for a very long time. It'd be very cool if you were the one to choose it."

He squirmed. The baby continued to shake its little fist. Caleb reached out, held it so softly that not even his father could object.

"Look at you. You're going to look after your baby brother, aren't you?"

Caleb beamed. Of course he would.

 _x-x-x-x_

 ** _1991_**

Bent inwards on himself like a weak card, five-year-old Cal picks at the healing scab on his knee until it bleeds. Dirt emanates from underneath him. School kids pass a handful of metres away, along speeding cars on the road, gripping dutifully at parent's hands, barely regarding the boy perched on a doorstep; of which was grubby cheeked and frowning anxiously. Cal picks some more. Red settles underneath his dirty fingernails.

A small hand picks up Cal's. Squeezes beside him, on that same old doorstep. Breathes in the dust and sand kicked up from the school kids. It's gone three. It's time they run to a park and escape the claustrophobia of classrooms. But Cal can't seem to move; stuck in time.

"Come. Plaster."

Cal allowed himself to be lead inside. He perched on the kitchen bench, the room unoccupied by any parental figure or even their childhood pet. Ethan managed to put on a plaster, a little lopsided but with all the effort a toddler could manage.

He gave Cal a hug. "Better now." Cal held on tight, swaying his brother in his arms.

It always was, when Ethan was around.

 _x-x-x-x_

 _ **2001**_

His heart raced so he drank more. But that never worked. He constantly found himself trying to plaster a constantly gaping wound. There was absolutely no amount of alcohol that could fix it. A vicious cycle ensued and Cal wasn't too sure on how to mend it, or even if he wanted to.

At fifteen, he was an underage drinker with a messy habit of missing assignments and bunking school to sit in the crook of trees far from the school. He didn't care much for his education; he didn't care much for anything, besides his family. Though nowadays he doubted their care for him. They always seemed to tut and mutter under their breath. Disappointed. He eavesdropped constantly. All he heard was what he never wanted to hear. He was never a gold star child, far from it, and as he grew, he got further from the expectations set from him. All that made him drink more. He set himself up for failure, he knew that. Like he sabotaged himself deliberately. There wasn't much he could about it.

A perpetual screw-up. Cal's lip quivered. He let loose the vodka bottle on the playground tiles in the dead of night. It smashed. The noise of it rang in his ears. A cacophony of owls calling, glass breaking and his heart racing set a firm noise in his brain that he just could never shake away. Beyond the playground confines, he swore he could see trees moving. Anyone could hide and get him. Cal found himself constantly paranoid something would happen but never quite sober enough to protect himself against it.

His stomach was pained, his throat was dry and he felt sick. And he found himself calling for the one person who'd be able to fix it.

 _x-x-x-x_

"Just go in there and introduce yourself. It's easy enough."

Cal never knew what to say to someone who simply didn't understand it. _Just_. That sounded so passive. So aggressive. _Just_. Like it's all _just_ that easy.

He couldn't walk in there and _just_ say hello. There were a million ways it could go wrong. He could write on each of his skin a different way this situation could go wrong before an hour was up. There was no doubt in his mind something would.

And even if he could... _unstick_ himself from this catatonic state, it'd be short-lived. He'd soon come to his senses and realise that it was never a good idea to break free of this comfort zone. A mistake would be made and he'd be forced to deal with it, that would mean drink and he promised Ethan he'd do his best to control that habit.

Turns out he was a liar as well as a mess.

Ethan looked at him in a way that'd seem pitying if it was anyone else. There was something so deeply understanding about his brother which made him feel a little less weak for being the way he was. Ethan could never understand, but he did his best, Cal supposed, and what else could he ask? A million miles walked in his shoes?

"Please, Cal," Ethan said. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't ask that. You know it's a spiral."

"Oh, darn, yes, you're... right. I'm sorry. I meant, there are no horribly bad things that could occur from you trying to socialise with your university friends. They'll all be as nervous as you, I promise. If they don't seem it then they just have a good poker face. A-And you should definitely not play poker with them if so!"

Cal tried to smile at the weak attempt at an Ethan Joke. It didn't work and his mouth sort of crumpled.

"What if I walk in with you?"

"That'd look seriously wet."

"No, no, not at all. We both go to this university. It just looks like we don't hate each other if we walk in together. It only looks wet if I literally hold your hand. Come on. Even if you just let me do all the talking. It'll be good for you to get your name in there."

Cal shrugged.

"Come on. Cal, you can't live like this. It's so passive. You need to engage more. Please. For me?"

"I... don't know."

"I do. Let's do this, alright?"

Cal's whole nervous system felt as though it was aflame. In his bones, he just felt dread. Absolute dread that was heavy as stone. He couldn't think of a place he'd want to be less. Ideally, he'd be in a pillow fort at that moment, hidden from the world.

With a furrowed brow, Ethan kept up with the convincing. The words tuned out. Cal fixated on the desperation. The 'for me'.

"Alright. Okay." He felt his throat dry the moment he agreed.

"Fantastic! Awesome, Cal. That's really good."

His legs were weak as they walked - Cal behind Ethan, of course, like his brother was a short barrier between him and his fears. A room of people, in clusters. Some alone. Ethan plucked up a few conversations, using his brother as a scapegoat. Cal's voice only ever came out weak and somehow hiccupy. He was sure he was feeling absolutely every eye on him.

Despite Ethan's obvious disapproval, he took full advantage of the alcohol on offer. It was the first time he said a 'yes' to a question with absolute confidence - _would you like a drink._ Of course he would. He would like very much.

The alcohol helped. He felt loosened. Less coiled, less tense. His teeth stopped grinding of their own accord and his muscles felt better. It enabled better flowing of conversations, he stopped the weak stutter. It felt better.

Silent disapproval crossed over Ethan's face occasionally like a shadow. However, he expressed pride for his brother, never letting anyone talk over him, nodding intently which encouraged others to do the same. Cal felt half-accomplished - which was more than usual, which was... progress?

As long as he had Ethan and alcohol, he supposed he could make it out of university alive.

 _x-x-x-x_

In face of disappointment, Cal crumbled. He knew he could deal with it; he just didn't understand _how_.

The worst part was he was convinced he'd made the correct decision. He hadn't even thought of any other possibilities. He just had to do this.

The dead silence on the phone when he told his brother what he'd done was crippling and by far, the worst he'd ever heard.

"You've dropped out of university."

"It was the best decision for me, Ethan."

"So w-what are you going to do now? You've got two years worth of debt and _nothing at all_ to show for it. I thought we were going to do this together, Cal, now you've left me alone!"

"Listen, you can do it without me. You're far more capable than I ever was. You can become Doctor Hardy. I was never meant to."

"How can you even say that when you never even tried?"

That hit a frayed nerve. Cal grew defensive. "Ethan, I tried. I couldn't attend the lectures, you know that. Any idea how hard it is to pass your classes when you don't even attend your classes?"

"So attend them!"

"You know I can't!" His voice was stonier, crueller, than he'd have liked. He didn't care. Ethan never got it, and in that moment, it had never felt so raw.

"What's the plan now? Stay inside all the time? You need a job, you need to get paid. It's a necessary fact of life. University was never going to be easy but you wanted to be a doctor, you know you did."

"That was always your dream, Ethan."

"Then why tag along?"

Cal swallowed back cold disappointment, choking back pain in his throat. "B-because it would... you'd always be there. Us... going to the same university, it meant you'd always... be there. Give me lecture notes. Take me with you. Help you out. I wanted to be close to you, Ethan."

"Do you have any idea how draining it is for me to take care of you all the time? I love you, Cal, I really do, but you couldn't even... be bothered me to tell me this in person!" Ethan was crying, hard, and Cal felt guilt collapse his insides. "Y-you know how hard I tried to help you out and you've virtually thrown it away!"

"Well then if you feel that way, this is a good decision! I don't have to rely on you for university anymore."

"But I bet you'll still rely on me for everything else. Trying to find a part-time job. Going food shopping. Answering the door-"

"Ethan, I can't cope with it anymore, you know this! And I can't keep relying on you, I... you know I'm having panic attacks and it makes it impossible to-"

"And I keep trying to get you to seek help for it! I want you to be okay!"

"This is me _trying_ to be okay."

"How? How?! This is the opposite of the right decision. You've posted two years worth of tuition directly down the drain and I cannot express to you how difficult this is going to be to pay off. You've let yourself down. Each daydream you ever had, it's gone, Cal! Just please."

"Please. Stop crying. It' my life, you know."

"And what? it doesn't affect me? It does, Cal. It does." He sniffed hard. "It would be less awful if you actually had a plan for what you wanted to do. An apprenticeship. A job lined up. Anything at all. You're plunging into the deep ed. Please, tell me you haven't officially left yet."

"I left on Friday."

"...Happy hour Friday"

"Yes, I had a few drinks, Ethan, and-"

"Did you make this decision _drunk_?" Cal couldn't believe it. Ethan actually spat the words out.

"No!"

"You better save up that money Caleb because you sure as hell aren't going to get employed anytime soon with your track record. This degree, it'd help you. I can't bear it, Cal, I can't watch you..." a long pause interrupted the conversation and Cal let them stew in it. He had nothing left to say. Nothing left to give. He felt emotionally drained.

"I'm going to move back in with Mum. So you don't need to worry about me."

Sniff. "You know I adore you, Cal."

"I know."

"I don't mean to make this seem like it's your fault. I get it - well, I don't, but I... I can see where you're coming from. I just wish things were different and I wish I could do this stuff for you."

"But you can't, Ethan, it isn't fair."

"If there's... anything I can do-"

"Call you. I know."

"No," an unsteady tone took over his brother's voice - now steely, now hardened.

Cal felt uneasiness settle in his bloodstream. "What?"

"Don't. Don't reach out. Don't call me. Delete my number and forget all about me."

"What? Ethan, please. Don't do this."

"I'm going to be a doctor, Cal. I've dedicated so much to you. I almost failed my exams to help you get through yours. And what's worse... watching you, this way, it destroys me. I need to be a doctor. I need it because it's all I've ever worked for, and... dad said you'd hurt me and you _have_."

"What are you... saying?"

"I'm saying stay _out_ of my way."

"Etha..."

"No. Seriously. I wish you the best. But Cal, just... get _out_ of _my_ life. Fix _yours_. I _cannot,_ I _refuse_ to hold your hand anymore."

 _x-x-x-x_

Heartbroken, Cal managed life the same way a crippled man learnt to walk.

He left his dormitory with the shame of a million men on his shoulders. Roommates helped, moving boxes and wishing him luck with any ventures he was going on. Gratefully, he took their kind words on board.

Ethan locked his door - both physically and metaphorically putting a huge barrier between them. Cal knocked every day until he left. Ethan never left the room, and when he did, there was no way of stopping him to talk. Cal met his back; defeated, he stopped trying and dawdled in the ache of losing his only sibling.

Moving back in with his Mother stung - particularly now there was the gaping hole in the household without their father's voice, leaving only the memories of his father's disapproval with every antic Cal ever did. They got on fine. She still mourned the loss of his education, almost as though he'd ruined hers.

Her methods of helping varied hugely from Ethan's. It was, somehow, even more medicinal. Cal went on medication and every alcohol bottle in the house was strictly forbidden. He was not allowed to close his door.

It felt like a punishment; Ethan's radio silence, his mother's distant stares.

It took him a long time to realise it wasn't his fault. He grasped that he had problems and he knew he had to solve them. He just wished he still had his little brother by his side, instead of his mother who seemed like she was held together by the buttons of her cardigan alone.

 _x-x-x-x_

Cal got the first-ever job he interviewed for. It gnawed at his self-esteem, of course, to inform his Mother that he did in fact work at a hospital now - just not as a doctor.

Regardless, he felt pride for himself. Nobody got a job first try. He declined all other offers for interviews and, God, did it feel good to feel wanted. _Turning people down_ was not something Caleb ever had to do.

The constant exposure to people did, admittedly, suck. There were no escaping people in need of reassurance. People starved of a conversation trying to stir some sort of chat from him. People, in general, who got into the wheelchair, usually wanted a greeting at the least. He found it difficult to engage in conversation as easily as others did, without any effort it seemed. That was the problem with living... everyone else seemed to be doing so much better than he was. And he knew that wasn't true, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was.

He managed to raise enough income after a few months of full-time work (no splurges on alcohol) for a car. Petrol money was an issue and the insurance was extensive, but he knew it was a bit of freedom he appreciated. Being with his mother for a few hours at least, and people for the best part of the day... his favourite part of the working week was to drive home in the dark, appreciating each and every minute he had to just breathe. Alone.

 _x-x-x-x_

 _ **Present-day**_

It had taken Cal years to learn trust in his instincts. Usually, away from the face of danger, he'd still believe he was heading straight for terror. There was a switch in his brain; absolute panic and unsettling worry.

He still hadn't kicked the habit of long late-night drives home. It was the highlight of his week.

However, this night, it felt different. The moon did not sit the same and the stars seemed to warn him as they thinned out along the sky.

An unsettling feeling sinks into the acid of his stomach. There's a worry, deep down. He feels uneasy. The winding road was almost always the scariest bit; the split second when you couldn't see what was round the corner and had to hope that any incoming vehicles had the sense to slow down.

One, two, three. His heart punches at his ribcage, threatening to punch out of there.

It feels wrong and he considers slowing down. He doesn't. All he has to do is head home and hope the uneasy feeling disappears soon.

But he didn't make it home.

He barely had enough time to brace himself for the impact as it happened.

 _x-x-x-x_

In his mind, he can see stars. The same ones in the sky. He can see children, running through grass. Hands intertwined. Laughing...giggling...

"Ethan." His voice was weak, a thin trickle of sound. " _Ethan_."

A bright light invades his vision. Alongside that, the horrific smell of... burning?

"Alright mate... I'm Iain, and this is Ruby. We're paramedics. We're gonna get you out of here, alright, uh-"

"Cal," he croaks.

"Cal. Just stay nice and calm for me. You remember what happened?"

His throat is desert dry. "I need my brother. Where's my brother?"

"There's no-one else in the car with you, bud."

Cal feels something slide down his face. He whimpers. "It hurts."

"We'll get you dosed up on the good stuff quickly. Promise it won't hurt for long." Gloved hands hold his head, he feels like he's being stretched.

"B-Being a wuss right now. Seriously."

"If anyone's allowed to be a crybaby, it's the guy who just got knocked off the road. You're that guy. You're good, Cal. Be a wuss all you like, just stay with me and try to keep your eyes open."

"I would if you'd stop... shining that light in my face."

Iain chuckles, and it sounds like the most human, normal thing he's heard since he was hit. "You're fun at parties, I can tell."

The trickling stops and arrives at his lips. Liquid slides through his parted lips, tasting like pennies. Blood.

"We're going to get you out. I'll warn you now, Cal, this is going to suck."

When they move him, all different sensations of pain strike his body. Simultaneously. Hard. Aching from his throat, stinging from his face, an absolute lack of sensation from the waist down. He's about to panic when he feels a sharp sensation strike through his legs - yeah, he's alive. He's so alive right now. Blood cakes his face, his clothes, his steering wheel. Peeling open his bruised eyes reveals a mess before him; a deployed airbag by the steering wheel, the windshield smashed over the dash. He can see cuts all over his showing skin. Glass pokes through to his abdomen; he's fortunate they're only the size of half a thumb, unable to do any real harm as the paramedics take care of him.

"Is the... is the idiot who sped round... are they-"

"Dead on impact. They were drunk."

A spike of a different pain fills Cal's stomach. _That could've been me. I could've done that._

"My mother's going to kill me. She hates it when I-" he pauses. "Oh, yeah."

"What?"

"She's dead."

The young women paramedic's lips flap, sort of unable to grasp a response. "I suppose... you're off the hook, then."

"Where're the condolences, Ruby?" Says Iain flippantly. Cal can hear a smile in his voice. In another life, if Cal was a little less anxious, he reckons that Iain and he could be friends. It's a rough sort of realisation of how his life could be different if _he_ was different. "Apologies, Cal, we're putting you on the stretcher now. If you dislike tight spaces then you're gonna have a tough time with the neck brace."

"Better than... the car."

"It's a write-off, mate. Gasoline everywhere. You're definitely better off with us, you're right there. Let's get you to hospital, alright?"

Ruby holds a walkie-talkie to her ear. "Got it. Iain, I know we're closer to St James', but-"

"They're gonna make us take him over half an hour away to- I despair of control, if they had one brain between them they'd be..." Iain grumbles, holding the stretcher tightly. "Let's just go. We've got you, Cal."

Cal faces the sky, glass shards in his hair. There are a million stars up there. Twinkling, brightly. Beacons of light alongside the moon, emitting a beautiful glow. His eyes were almost fused closed, but he could appreciate the sheer beauty of it... even if he was punctured with glass and grazed in every place he could imagine.

 _"Look at the stars, Cal," his brother lisped. "I want to go up there one day."_

 _"We can go together!"_

 _"I'd love that."_

He tastes salt in his mouth. Something hot, falling down his cheeks. It isn't blood. It doesn't taste metallic enough.

Iain brushes Cal's torso, then gently pats his shoulder. "You'll be alright, bud. No worries there. You've got the dream team, here."

 _x-x-x-x_

"This is Cal Knight, 35. He's been in a car accident on one of those sharp country lanes - other driver pronounced dead on the scene. The patient seems distressed but able to put up a conversation..."

A soft voice guides the trolley. "Bay three, please."

Cal feels hands all over him. They push at painful areas and he finds himself groaning.

 _"Mum! Quick!"_

 _Ethan was there immediately, calling for help. Fell to his knees and checked him all over. A doctor already, in his bloodline. He was the one Cal cried for when the cabinet fell; the one who ran the fastest at the sound of distress._

 _"I've got you, brother," soothed Ethan, brushed his hair back. "I've got you."_

A doctor smoothes over Cal's clothes. "It's alright, we've got you safe. Just relax for me. I'll be taking good care of you."

They sound detached. Professional. Qualified - clinically kind. Cal immediately feels his nerves squash a little, feeling as at peace as a car accident victim could feel.

He's sure he recognises those damn eyes as they stare back into his.

And they recognise him too, it seems, as they fill with tears.

A loud clatter echoes around the place.

"Woah, steady, man..."

Cal manages to squint his eyes to see what happened beyond his field of vision. A tall muscular man, dark-skinned, with tattoos, is holding presumably the soft-voiced doctor up. The doctor has a stethoscope draped messily around his neck. From what Cal can see through broken vision, he is entirely blanched of colour with shaking hands which are still poised from holding the stethoscope.

"Get Will. I c-can't treat this patient." He sounds cold. Fragile.

"Doctor H-"

"Seriously, get him _now_!"

Cal hears the footsteps intensify in speed and doors swoosh open. He squeezes his eyes closed. Light bleeds through.

 _x-x-x-x_

 _It couldn't be. It couldn't._

Ethan had left his life behind without a second thought, and here it was, creeping back into his new one.

Ethan hides his swollen eyes in the crook of his arms. This is his life. He had not always liked it but nowadays he had grown to. He'd built it for himself out of rubble and sticks. There was so much he had to fight to get to this point. He'd let go of so much and dedicated his life to the art of saving lives. There was nothing more significant for him; he woke, he worked, he tried to sleep. That was it. There was no space for anything else to creep in.

That was the way he liked it. It was what he knew how to do - medicine wasn't just healing for the patients. It ailed every wound he ever had to save a life. To see the light draining from someone's eyes to manage to twist something for them to come back, fighting from beyond the brink.

It was passion. It was his life, the life he loved.

And here it was, falling down again.

A dark feeling was dragged up again. Something to do with guilt and pain. A duty was unfulfilled. A painful phonecall, far too many years ago. He still remembers it; hanging up the phone to cry for the brother he lost. The brother he left behind in search of a better life.

He thought he'd done the right thing. Granted, he felt like he had. On days when his flat felt empty and his heart felt numb, he yearned for a family. During tragedies ad losses, he willed for a soft pair of arms to pull him in. Those days were gone. He left them behind a locked door.

It had been too long to repair such a gap.

Ethan breathes unevenly. Hears the door open.

"Not cool, man."

"What do you want me to _say_? he caught me by surprise." He grumbles. "I know, alright, I'm a shit doctor as well as a horrific brother."

Jacob crosses his arms. "I'm the only one who knows, right?"

"Only one who forced it out of me."

"It was over a takeaway pizza and a couple drinks. You told me of your own accord. Don't pull that."

He shrugs, like it doesn't mean a thing. It does.

"Ethan, that's your big brother. He was in a car accident. It could've been more serious. He could've died, you know this."

"It wouldn't have felt any different. I lost him years ago."

"No, you didn't, and it wouldn't have! You _let him go_ many years ago. What I see is a man, searching around the room, desperately strangled by anxiety, just looking for a comforting voice to tell him it'll be alright. You need to be that voice."

"I _was_ that voice for about twenty years, Jacob. Sometimes, you get sick of being the one to fix everyone."

"That's why you love medicine so much, then? What's the difference between him and a patient? You'd never just abandon a patient because it got too full on."

Ethan scrubs his eyes. They feel raw. "Just let me get it out of my system."

"What is it with you? What makes you run away?"

"Just leave me, Jacob. I'll sort this."

"You better." His voice is stern, but Ethan can't deny there's an undertone of kindness there.

Jacob's hand drapes ove his shoulder. There's a light sigh, then nothing. Ethan re-opens his eyes to find himself, alone. That sensation feels chilling.

Never feels good to be on the receiving end.

 _x-x-x-x_

Cal is taken into a secluded room. He's met by several people; a surprisingly agile older man with white hair like a brillo pad, the same nurse with the tattoos alongside muscles and the paramedic who brought him in. Iain greets him with warmth.

Iain lets the car keys fall on the bed with a clatter. "You were gripping those for dear life."

"Thanks." In light of it all, Cal's heart has been working overtime - it beats faster than it should, but manageably. "It... has a photo on it. Guess my unconscious self found it more important to hold than to call an ambulance straight away."

"In all fairness, shock is a hell of a drug."

Cal grins. "Thanks. You know. for saving me."

"Job description, mate. All in there."

"I know."

Iain claps his shoulder then departs. He's effortlessly dropped into conversation with colleagues, laughing in no time. Cal finds it fascinating. There's a factor of inspiration in his gut. It must be a better life; one without worry or second-guessing. He wonders if Iain has ever felt his stomach churn to the point of swallowing back sick at the prospect of making a phone call.

Probably not. But he can imagine Iain - and most of these people - have been through things he couldn't comprehend either. Iain catches his eye through the glass, lifts a hand and waves. Cal offers a smile, too bandaged to return the gesture.

Not too long later, a friendly nurse walks in with red hair and a soft smile. "Hi, I'm Robyn. I'll sort those nasty cuts out - how'd this all happen?"

"Just a car accident."

"Just! Aren't you positive," she beams and examines his face carefully. "That won't even need proper stitches. No needles for you. Dr Hardy made it sound a lot worse. Sorry about that, by the way. He isn't usually like that with patients."

"Doctor...doctor Hardy?"

Robyn chuckles. "You don't need to make the joke. We make fun of his last name too. It's been four years and he's only just stopped blushing." That hadn't even crossed his mind.

Doctor Hardy. Doctor Hardy. That rings more than just a bell. It rings alarms, brings back voices and increases his pulse tenfold.

"What's his first name?" He grinds out messily.

"Ethan. Why? I got the impression he knew you, but he won't say anything."

x-x-x-x

Sometimes, in the mirror, he sees Cal's face staring back at him.

They never looked like one another. Ethan always had a softer face - blurred around the edges, less angular. He had a smile different to his brother's - Cal had this side smile, one that defined him more than Cal understood. There was a severe height difference. Ethan wonders if Cal has grown any taller. He imagines not.

The red-eyed figure in the mirror stares back at him. He can see flickers of his brother; the same furrowed brow, the way he held himself. It was so subtle. He, somehow, always wondered if they'd look like brother's if they stood together. But they ever stood together. Because they were never together.

Jacob comes up behind him. "Come on. He's in a side-room."

"I can't."

"You owe this to him, Ethan."

"Do you... think I was wrong? For letting him go?" He turns, sick of his reflection and red eyes. Looks into Jacob's brown ones instead. "What would you have done?"

"I don't know. But I wouldn't be able to see my brother hurt. I'd want to be by his side."

"I do want to. I just... feel like he'll ever forgive me."

"If you don't try, you'll never know."

A hand pushes open the bathroom door abruptly. It's Robyn, her face redder than her plaited hair. "Ethan. I swear I will hold a million grudges against you for the rest of your life if you don't go in there right now and see that brother of yours."

"He... he knows I'm here?"

Robyn just shoots him a look of disapproval and lets the door swing closed.

 _x-x-x-x_

 _Cal watches the ceiling. It is fixed with hundreds of small glow-in-the-dark stars. He had lifted his brother, balancing on a chair himself, when they were very young, and helped him stick them to the top. Both had slipped and fallen into a giggling heap on the floor._

 _Older now, they laughed a little less. Cal could only stare on at the stars and wait for his brother to return; able to buy a train ticket himself and spend time with his friends, hours away. Something Cal didn't have the confidence to do yet. He felt miles behind._

 _Slowly, the door creaked open. Cal always knew who it was by the sound of footsteps._

 _"Cal, I'm home."_

"Cal, it's me."

He springs up, hearing the voices merge - fifteen years old and...

His grown-up brother.

Cal feels his breathing quicken. In the doorway, he sees a meek figure; arms crossed, more protectively than crossly. It's the doctor from before - the one he recognises entirely now.

"Ethan," he breathes. Each syllable feels foreign to his lips.

He hadn't seen his face in so long and there is is. Staring right back into his eyes. The same eyes printed on the photograph he carries around, the one on his keys. The brother with childhood memories tangled with Cal's.

Ethan rakes a hand through his hair. Still blond. Still sunny-coloured.

"You... grew up."

"So did you."

"Became... a doctor." _I could have been too._

"I, uh, I did, yeah," Ethan says, like it was nothing. Cal supposes the novelty has worn off for Ethan now, but he can't shake the feeling of seeig his brother in scrubs and a stethoscope being odd.

That is his Ethan. Shirts and blazers. Still growing into his shaggy hair, still so short that he disappeared in crowds.

"You... okay?"

"I'm alive," Cal says. "That qualifies, right?"

Ethan nods fast. "It does."

They sway in silence. Ethan lets the door swing behind him, moving alone. He gradually makes his way over, looking right through his brother, as if it was just too difficult. Cal supposes it could be.

Ethan looks pained. "You know, I could've passed you in the streets," he swallows in a way Cal recognises - restraining himself. "I'd have failed to recognise that, hey, that's my big brother. _Right there._ I didn't even recognise you until the name, and the age made sense, and it all came together with getting a look of your expression, it-" he drags in a huge inhale of air. "It's been so long."

Cal drinks in every word - wanting to get used to the sound of his brother's voice again. Desperately. "Sit. Please."

Ethan doesn't pull out a chair. He looks as faint as Cal feels. He sits, albeit awkwardly, on the side of his brother's bed. His arms look wrong like they don't quite belong attached to his body.

Cal breathes in a decade worth of pain and loss. "Ethan," he manages.

"Cal."

In a mess of arms and torsos, he finds his brother in his arms, gripping him like he needed him to live. He feels their hearts beating together, the feeling of their quick pulses. Both hands - shaking. There's a trembling in his brother's entire frame. He wants to hold him even closer. Cal finds them rocking, cradling. He lets himself cry. He lets himself hurt. The grazes and the cuts stig, but the feeling of normality in his arms makes that all fade away.

Ethan pulls away, removing his face in the crook of Cal's shoulder, and he's in refusal to meet his brother's eyes. His cheeks are wet. "I'm so sorry, Cal."

"No tears. I won't allow that," he says softly. "What on earth are you sorry for?"

"Leaving you. I k-know, you needed help. Proper help. Help I couldn't give. But I gave up on you! I was selfish!"

"Ethan. You were scared. You were angry that I threw in the towel. You wanted the best for me, and... you also had your own problems. University is hard enough. Life is hard enough, but nibbles, you were living my life for me!"

"You were struggling every day. Saw how hard it was... never supported you."

"Ethan..." Cal presses their foreheads together. "You just being there, throughout it all. You made every day feel worth it. Okay?"

He sniffs, and Cal is transported back to that day. That phone call. Only imagining the tears on their faces. Now he could see them, feel them. Ethan's tears fell onto Cal's hospital gown.

He holds Ethan's hand in his. Turns over his arm, rubs it comfortingly. He can see ridges in it. Bumps.

Ethan notices what's happening, and turns it back over.

"What's on your arms?"

"They're healed, it's okay."

"Did you... was it... are they what I think they are?"

Ethan sounds like he feels sick. Strangled and uneasy. "Yeah."

"Ethan..." he remembers a horrible day as children, dragging a blade across his own arm. It was Ethan who heard Cal crying. It was Ethan who bandaged it up. Cal never did it again. He promised.

 _Was that where he got it from? Was this Cal's fault? Was-_

"The one day I don't wear long-sleeves, huh..."

"I'm sorry, Ethan."

"Sorry? I was the one who pushed you away!"

Cal holds Ethan's hand softly. "I love you, brother."

"I-I know. I'm going to take care of you, now." He grips Cal's hand tightly.

"And I, you."

 _x-x-x-x_

Cal is discharged a few days later with minor injuries. He truly got off lucky. Somehow, he feels weak constantly but was told many times during that hospital stay that he has the durability of numerous items. Steel was one of them.

Ethan walks in, changed from hospital scrubs. There's a soft woollen jacket covering him. Casual smart with ironed trousers and a crisp white shirt - Cal could've guessed. Only Ethan would wear a shirt when his only destination was home. He smiles wide at the sight of his brother. It feels good.

"How're you?"

"I'm good," Cal says. "I saw Iain before he left. Wished me luck. You... have good colleagues."

"They like you."

"Where'd you get that idea?"

Ethan just grins. "Right then. You're even changed... eager, right?"

"I guess I'm just looking forward to seeing where you've been living for the last ten years."

"It's just an apartment. One-bedroom. One office... too big for an office. It's more a bedroom size. I just never had a roommate."

"And you're sure you don't mind me staying with you?"

"I'd never mind. You'll just have to excuse the cleanliness. I'm a bit of a stickler for it."

"Do we have to do the wheelchair thing?"

"I'd like to. At least until we're out of the hospital."

Cal would grumble, but he feels flutterings of joy which disable any part of him even capable of complaining.

Ethan helps Cal out of bed. The wheelchair is strange to approach when you're the person getting into it - Cal has gotten accustomed to being the one in control, helping the patient getting into it. Steering. Knowing his way everywhere. Now, he is the patient, and he feels a strange sense of helplessness without his hands on the metal handles.

"Alright?"

Cal turns his head, beaming back at his brother. "Just fine."

 _x-x-x-x_

The apartment itself is, as Ethan said, extremely clean. It's to the point where it feels hardly lived in. There were murals on the wall - no photographs, no people - and an airer with seemingly the same shirt, copied about five times, hanging on it. Several potted plants are placed strategically around the living room. Too many sofas for one person.

A stack of cardboard boxes sits by the breakfast bar.

"Going anywhere?"

"No, no. That was my office stuff. I moved it out."

"So... the second bedroom..."

"You can stay in it. You know... whilst you get better."

Both of them manage to settle amicably. Cal finds himself comfortably on the sofa, only troubled by a few particularly pesky bruises digging into him. A sort of comfortable air surrounds him; he feels at ease with Ethan.

Ethan pulls off the jacket, hanging it up neatly. Rolls his sleeves and starts to prepare dinner.

"Ethan."

"Yes?"

"Don't fall into old patterns, yeah? I can help with something. You don't have to take care of me."

"Oh, I know. I was just giving you a minute. You can go and put the duvet in the cover if you feel up to walking."

Cal grins. "I'm sure I can manage it."

"It's blue," Ethan says suddenly. "The duvet cover... is that still, you know, your favourite colour?"

Cal could cry. "Yes, nibbles. You remembered." That's a little white lie - he prefers green, but the way Ethan said those words... blue felt suddenly so much better than green. So even if it stopped being his favourite for a while, it has returned to the top. He could live in it now. Blue skies and blue everything.

He gets to his feet, surprisingly weaker than he expected. As said, he does manage it. He stays near walls nevertheless.

When he's finished sorting out the room - not that there was much to do - he helped his brother with dinner. His own diet consisted mainly of budget cooking; particularly a special something he liked to call "Everything Pasta", which was normal pasta (usually a mix of all types he had left) with anything leftover in the fridge. He'd cut onions and use spinach and mix it all together in a big bowl of pasta. He'd learnt good food combinations through that. For example, the tomato sauce was not an ideal replacement for actual pasta sauce. However, thyme worked well as a topping, whenever he was gifted a spice rack from his neighbour, if he didn't have cheese. It didn't taste of much but it looked professional; even if it was just him who saw it.

Ethan seemed to be well-stocked. There was an actual method for his cooking.

Cal watches him carefully as he chopped vegetables. He couldn't quite drag his eyes away from his brother's scarred arms, despite how bad that made him feel. It had been days of him catching glances but it still... hurt.

Ethan seems to notice. "I can always tell, you know. Paranoid that someone's looking. And I know you are."

"Sorry. It's just... weird."

"It was a long time ago. I don't do it anymore."

"Was it my fault?" Cal bit his tongue the minute he said it. "I'm sorry, that sounds horribly self-centred, I just-"

"It doesn't! Seriously. I struggled a bit after university. It was hard to put stuff into action. Guess I lost confidence a bit. It was... a release. Needed someone to talk to, but I refused to let anyone in."

"What changed?"

"I was forced to make a change when summer came along. It was hell to wear sleeves in forty-degree heat. And... I met Jacob on my year as an F2. That's one of the nurses at Holby. It did me some good to have some friends. It took me a very long time but I stopped it. I've not done it in years."

"I wish I'd have been there for you."

He smiles sadly. "Me too." He swipes the carrots into a colander. "So tell me. What did you do after the university thing?"

"I moved in with mum... she got me on some meds, some therapy. I didn't care for the therapy much. It was weird, without dad. Especially without you. We dealt. I got a job."

"Did you? So soon?"

"Yes, I got a job as a porter in St James'. Extremely close to Holby."

"I wasn't in Holby after graduation. Still, we've had about four or five years to bump into each other."

Cal wishes in his heart they had have reconciled sooner. However, watching his brother's loving smile, seeing how he took care of Cal with absolute dedication, drank in his every word... he knew they could make this work.

 _x-x-x-x_

It felt odd to fill each other in on their lives over the space of an evening. Ethan told Cal about every girlfriend mishap, every exam panic, every patient he couldn't get his mind off of. Cal told Ethan about stories of their mother, stories of his job, stories of everything he hoped to achieve.

"I want to do an apprenticeship. I know, I'm too old, but-"

"You're never too old to learn," Ethan says lovingly. Ever the slower eater of the two, he was still finishing off his carrots as Cal drank the last mouthful of orange juice. "Apprenticeship for what?"

"Business-related things. I promise it's far more professional than I make it sound! There's a firm nearby in Holby, I wanted to change my job. I don't mind being a porter, but I feel like there's a chance for me elsewhere."

"You'd be just right for it. If it's nearby, that's even better. No need to drive anywhere."

"Don't even make me think about my car! I saved up for years to get it."

Ethan smiles. "It sounded like a deathtrap." His face darkens, and he lowers it. Watches his plate instead.

"What is it?" Cal gets the feeling something is wrong.

"Just..." he breathes in, tight throat. "You were lucky... you know? Really lucky. You might've not been. And I'd never have gotten to see you. I'd probably never have known. Just lived my whole life without knowing my brother was... dead."

"I'm not, Ethan. I'm right here. I'm going to stick around for as long as I possibly can - just to annoy you."

Ethan's eyes are shiny, but his mouth smiles weakly. "I'm glad. I want that, more than anything. It's been weird without a brother. I thought this would be weirder, but it feels... normal."

"I've never forgotten what it's like to have a brother, Eth. You're a great one."

Shyly, Ethan squeezes his brother's hand. "I've missed you. A lot. Like, a large amount."

"Me too. More than you know."

 _x-x-x-x_

 _ **Guest:** im so sorry, this comment was so long ago! please PM me if you're still interested in me writing something. i wasn't in a great place when this was posted, nor was i in the following months, which is one explanation i can give on why i didn't reply as soon as i wouldve liked. i'm getting back into the swing of things now. thank you so much for your lovely support x _

_**20BlueRoses:** definitely hurt to write! really missing cal, it's been so long it's hard to remember he was ever IN casualty. he feels like an OC we've all created. really grateful for all your feedback! (i'll definitely consider keeping cal alive next time haha, well i did in this story so there u go hehe!) thank you loads for your review and ongoing support :D_

 _ **InfinityAndOne:** the premise of it being like a repressed memory that cal was dead.. it was so fun (is that the wrong word) to write, and even months later i know it was a pretty fun prompt mainly due to its ambiguity! thank you so much dude i appreciate your support!_

 _ **casfics:** man i miss you on this site. really hope to see your user flash up more! appreciate that, this was written when rash was a bit of a new character therefore pretty hard to pin a personality on, so glad i got it right! you've worded this review so well - ethan truly built his life around his brother, and when cal left all the foundations crumbled down. siblings really do shape you and this was just about ethan being unable to let the past go, alongside old routines. that's exactly it with the alicia thing! it was a selfish move on his part, perhaps one could argue it was to "save her" from him, others could argue that it was unfair of him to break their relationship like that... interpretation man! thank you for such a thoughtful review!_


	8. LovingRandom140: Glass Walls

_**Request** : LovingRandom140 (review)_

 _ **Characters (in order of most featured):** Ethan Hardy, Will Noble, the majority of staff are mentioned._

 _ **Rating** : K_

 _ **Warnings** : none!_

 _ **Prompt** : Could you write a fic of Ethan and Will having a catch-up? Like Ethan telling him about cal, his mum and the Huntington's? L x_

 _a/n: i dont feel that i wrote this very well (seems to deteriorate progressively) but editing is making it worse instead of better, so i'd better just post it and hope you like it!_

* * *

 _ **Glass Walls**_

* * *

When Will continued to linger about the office door of Ethan's, he was challenged to leave his perpetual silence.

To tell the truth, Ethan was not fond of his habit. He resigned himself to accidental silence almost without realising it. Often times, he could go hours without a word and only notice when it was remarked upon. He found it easy, _too_ easy, to slip into wordlessness. It felt like his jaw was moulded shut. All speech was an extra effort so he simply did not bother with it.

Boyish and blue-eyed, Will stared back at him with nonchalance paired with waiting. Ethan knew he'd been remarkably patient of late with his lack of trying Ethan's nerve. He wondered how long it would last. It seemed that it was coming to a standpoint.

Will didn't seem to be giving up. He never did. His persistence was rock hard. Ethan switched the computer off.

The tough quiet seemed to test unwilling Ethan into a conversation. He lingered in the discomfort of it. There was not a part of him inclining to partake elegantly. He didn't. Dust built up on the ceiling coving.

Will broke first. "You've been in here a lot."

"In comparison to?" Immediately, he was defensive, and he felt it stiffen his joints, with familiarity, the way a scent is familiar, a voice or a smell.

"In comparison to everyone else."

"They've got the shop floor covered. I'm handling the paperwork for Dylan."

"That involves staying holed up in here, does it?"

"It needs to get done. What I get paid for, right?"

"The most important part of your job is taking care of people."

"Arguably."

"No, not arguably. _Actually_. You didn't sit through lecture upon lecture to make spreadsheets, you sat through them so you could diagnose a problem and treat it."

"A huge amount of admin work contributes to the health of this hospital. It cannot be neglected."

"We need you. Mason's a liability. Rash is buckling with grief, he needs support, not to babysit a junior doctor when he's barely grown into his stethoscope, you know? You of all people-"

Ethan flinched. Snapped, like a taut elastic. "What on _earth_ would _you_ know about it? _What_ is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Will retracted himself like he'd been burnt and stumbled on the doorstep. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The office door locked almost instantly and he was left alone. Ethan tried to fall back into silence but it felt too noticeable. Computer keys seemed too clunky and the words did not compute in his brain. That was the problem when you allowed the world back in - each time, it got harder to shut it back out again.

 _x-x-x-x-x_

It took major strength to pull himself together again - more, still, to swallow back his pride with extreme hesitance. He was good at polite apologies, as all typically British counterparts were. Yet he floundered a little in the sincere department, where he knew the apology was necessary rather than just customary. He approached Will stealthily; hoping he wouldn't be noticed, so he could lose his nerve and retreat back to his corner.

Unfortunately, Will did notice him. Fortunately, he greeted him with a warm smile.

"You don't have to apologise."

"I do, though. I was out of order."

"It's forgotten. I touched a nerve."

"Still," Ethan said. "I can be a little brash, at times."

"I will admit that I didn't see it coming."

They fell into step together, gradually putting distance between themselves and curiously eavesdropped colleagues.

"You've missed a fair bit, Will."

"Well, fill me in." Will caught his eye, which glinted. "I'm listening."

 _x-x-x-x-x_

It turned out, Will was not leaving him alone in the slightest. He took care to give Ethan an easy afternoon - a few patients, ranging from broken arms to the odd suturing job. He felt watched; less overbearing or threatening, but more protective, the way a guardian angel would feel, beating down on you like the sun. Will bought him lunch, something Connie fell into the habit of doing when he was too busy wrestling with guilt to take care of himself.

It was either a clever distraction or curiosity creeping in. Ethan struggled to swallow his sandwich. There seemed to be nothing less desirable than eating, especially when every mouthful tasted of nothing. The texture of bread just made him feel sick and light-headed. Will pushed him a glass of water.

"Did you enjoy HEMs?"

"I'm...sorry?"

"It was on your 5-year plan after uni. Only person I knew who bothered with planning that stuff out."

Ethan found himself smiling without knowing he was going to. That was an unfamiliar sensation. "I did. Mostly."

"Why mostly?"

"I underestimated how much I loathed heights."

"Still... I bet it was a valuable learning experience."

"I didn't forget it in a hurry if that's what you mean."

He managed another starchy mouthful.

"How did big brother feel about you being so high up?"

Physically, he wondered how it was possible to feel his heart squeezing uncomfortably, somehow nestled up in his stomach, twisted in a tangly broken mess. He barely remembered even considering his brother back then. They just weren't on speaking terms. It put a shameful taste in his mouth, even when it was verging on a decade ago.

Will picked up on it wonderfully. "You both graduated in the same year, right?"

"That's right. He had a gap year, failed a few years... somehow we managed to graduate, a million miles away from each other, in the same year. Drove him mad. It never took much to shake his confidence when I did something he did. Thought that being older made him automatically better."

"I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about him."

"What? No, it's fine."

"It isn't. I should be more sensitive."

"It truly is okay, Will. It's just odd."

"People don't mention him much? He worked here, right?"

"Yes. Grief hit everyone when he died but they seemed to move on pretty quickly. I don't blame them, I mean, it's happened since... a paramedic, Sam, she died and I didn't even attend the funeral, even though I knew her. People leaving and I just get used to it. I think we just live amongst so much death, loss, we become desensitized quickly."

"They miss him, Ethan, you can guarantee that. They probably just don't like bringing him up around you out of care. That's all it is."

"Guess so. I don't blame them for that. I was pretty unsteady when he died. Suppose they don't want any re-runs."

"No. They just care about you and think that's what you need."

Ethan fixed his view on a cupboard, just above Will's shoulder. "Yeah. I just wish it didn't feel like I was the remaining link to him."

"How'd you mean?"

"Well... when I die, so does he, in a way. You know? if everyone moves on... who's left to recall him?"

"That's something everyone will have to come to terms with. We'll all be remembered for the last time. Mentioned for the last time. I guess it brings more importance to make yourself memorable or worth thinking of."

"He was certainly that."

"I know," Will smiled. "You talked about him all the time."

 _x-x-x-x-x_

With Will, Ethan found his hardened exterior loosening a bit. He found it easier to reveal what he usually left behind him. Perhaps it was something of a reminder; Will reminded him of better times.

If he concentrated hard enough to the drone of Will's strong accent then he could take himself back there. Student accommodation, crammed lecture halls. He could imagine the rich green grass where clusters of students gathered, everyone in the same boat. It was a communal feel. Holby was similar. He supposed human beings just had an obsession with feeling part of something - feeling part of a team that was well-oiled and with a common goal. Once, it was to graduate with a first. Nowadays, it leant more to survival.

There was a lot he left behind, be it habits, people, or the odd book he forgot in his luggage on the night he left the building forever. Will seemed to have shed his untidy self but he stood in a position similar to when Ethan met him; feet angled cooly, shoulder against a brick wall, a cigarette positioned neatly in between his fingers. He dropped it the moment he had company.

"Don't stop on my account," said Ethan, who had never been even vaguely tempted to pick up the habit himself, and found it particularly hard to understand.

"Feels wrong to subject you to that secondhand smoke. You know, we never did finish our conversation."

"Patients getting in the way of our chat... extremely selfish of them."

"I'd get so much work done if it weren't for patients," said Will, drifting his hand to his mouth, forgetting his earlier action of binning it. Damn. "What time are you on til?"

"Nine thirty."

"That's early for you, isn't it?"

"I didn't choose it. Dylan's been strictly monitoring the rotas... mine in particular, it seems."

"He's a good one. He does go on, though. You should've heard him. After, you know, that bomb blast, he gave one of those speeches. I've never actually been able to make fun of a clinical lead befo- what's wrong?"

"What? Nothing."

"You looked uncomfortable. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"What, Dylan droning on? It's alright, I'm used to it."

"I mean the terror attack. You know, damn that Mason, for bringing it up... exciting, apparently, like people's lives are more fun to save when they've half been blown to- yeah, I just did it again."

"Will, you're not offending me," said Ethan. "I grew up with an older brother, remember? He said more offensive things than not offensive things. It'll take more than that."

"Dredging up bad memories, not my smartest move."

"I'd rather you talk than be afraid to. And yeah, I agree, I was annoyed at Mason too. You can't... understand it, until you're in it."

"Death everywhere. I saw it through the hospital, but I can't imagine the horror of it actually unfolding in real-time."

Ethan remembered the feeling of trying to clip his helmet on. As a child, learning to ride a bike, he clipped on one for the first time. He'd thought that, back then, the worst thing he had to fear was grazed knees or bumped elbows. In the midst of the horror, he knew he had more to fear than that. Al's 'wake up' haunted him. There was no way of gathering that what they were in was real life. He hadn't thought that real life could be so brazenly cruel.

And yet it was... and he recalled being underneath the rubble, never sure if it was tears, water or blood that trickled down his forehead. Hearing only his own voice and raging heartbeat in his ears. A sudden bright light... he was alive.

 _I thought we were dying. I thought we were dying._

Al's blood had never come out of the uniform. Ethan had the nerve to think that he was hurt... it was Al who had endured the brunt of the explosion. The mention of blood in his mouth, it should've been a giveaway. It should've.

Vaguely, he felt Will take ahold of his shoulder. Pulled him to a bench by the Peace garden.

"You know, I..." his voice sounded too abrupt to his own ears. "The man I was with was called Al. He saved my life. I never got to say thank you."

"I think he'd know you were grateful. If he knew you, at all, he'd know that you were someone worth dying for, Ethan."

His throat dried up. "I could hardly believe it. You know? That was not the way I thought I was going to die. I'd prepared for a death, come to terms with it, but actually..."

"You've lost me."

"I..." he paused. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does." His hand clenched around Ethan's knee. "If it matters to you."

"It's... well, you can't think of me differently. I guess you will, though, that's inevitable. But you have to promise to keep it quiet."

"I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Alright. I inherited Huntington's disease from my mother."

Noticeably, Will's face whitened. "Okay. I didn't know that your mother had that."

"Not the mother you're thinking of. Matilda died from breast cancer, but she wasn't my real mother. Emelie was. We were taken away from her as children because, as you know, Hungtington's affects your mental health first, and she was too depressed to take care of us. Well... that's the impression I got, anyway. I don't actually know. Cal didn't talk about it and I didn't ask," Ethan noted the lack of response from Will. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

"It's the pits."

Ethan watched Will's eyes. Did they seem to flicker from some sort of sympathetic sadness to...laughing? They bit the side of their mouths.

"Alright. Understatement," Will said.

"You think? No, no, it's... it's not all bad. I know how it's going to end unless scaffolding gets me first."

"I know you don't want me to say it, but truly, I'm sorry, Ethan. I wish you didn't have it. I know what it means for you."

"It's alright. I suppose it's actually a good thing, right?"

"A degenerative disease is a good thing, is it? How on earth have you come to that heinous conclusion, ah?"

"I know how I'm going to die. You, on the other hand, and many others, don't have a clue."

"Something could get you first."

"I know. But we all deal with that unknown fear. I'm not special."

"I'd be a mess."

"There's no way of predicting how you'd be, Will. I think you'd deal with it like Cal would."

"How's that?"

"...at first, of course, you would be a mess. Paranoid. Worried, like you'd never been before. Waiting for the symptoms, now, that's the hell in itself. It's said to be even worse than actually being in the midst of the disease. Then you'd tell one person about it, and another, and let them support you. I think you wouldn't be quiet about it. You'd want to inspire people like Duffy does with her dementia. I'd want to keep it quiet... I mean, I have. But I think you'd want to show that you were stronger than wallowing in silence."

"Maybe. I just can't imagine it."

"We all die, Will. I just have to deal with it a little earlier than most people have to. But then again, so did Cal. And he was fine, you know? Healthy."

"It makes more sense when you put it like that."

"I've had a lot of time to mull it over."

"Regardless, I think you need to get out more," Will rose. "We are going to the pub."

"No, no! We've been milking our break anyway... you know I finish at half nine, it's barely five."

"You must've read the rota wrong. Dylan corrected it. Or rather... I pulled a few strings." Will said. "You work too hard. We need to get a good drink in us."

He grimaced. "Don't tell anyone this, but I don't really like drinking that much."

Will scanned the proximity before nodding quickly. "Secret's fine with me."

 _x-x-x-x-x_

"So how was orthopaedics?"

"Boring," Will said. They ambled through the deserted town centre at quarter to nine. "I got sick of seeing bones. That was it. It didn't have enough variety."

"Have you chosen your speciality yet?"

"Honestly, I think emergency medicine might be it. The pace of it just makes you feel like there's no way you could ever get bored. Every day, you're doing something different, making a change. It doesn't feel like countless obs and CT scans and adjusting saline stands. It's not what I went to med school for."

"I get that," Ethan said. "You must question your decision sometimes, though. I know I do."

"Sure I do. I did have one patient. Toby. He... came in, after, you know, living it up with some friend of his. All seemed fine. He was an ordinary kid, just trying to live his teenage years properly. When I saw he had... well, severe cancer, I knew that was it."

"You considered leaving, didn't you?"

"Of course. It'd give me the chance to start afresh. I mean, I already let him down with empty promises and the fact I couldn't treat him. It was inoperable and impossible. He wanted me to help him die."

"That's horrible."

"It's exactly what I didn't want. I never thought I'd be the ' _patch them up, chuck them out_ ' type of doctor, but with that case, I was. I wanted it over."

"I don't think anyone would've blamed you for buckling under that pressure. Not that you did."

"No, course I didn't. Always got to remain noble."

Ethan grinned. "Have to keep up appearances, right?"

"Of course. Wouldn't have it any other way."

They settled underneath a streetlamp, faraway conversation ebbing through street corners. Warmth hung. He watched Will; his dark hair lit up, appearing lighter under the lamp. Taller, more so than Ethan. Somehow always the display of put together, organized, yet... untidy imperfection.

"It was funny that... when I left home, to go to university, I was glad to get away from Cal. It was one of the reasons I was so drawn to a university so far away from my home. We drove each other crazy. He'd return from holidays and wind me with his insults, teasing. I always felt, somehow, he got cut the better end of the deal."

"What changed?"

"Nothing. Not for ages. I just..." he shifted. "You reminded me of him, just now."

"That's an honour, Ethan. Seriously."

"Don't be sarcastic, I-"

"No, no, I mean it! You always regarded him highly. Even when you didn't, it was always obvious it was just a sort of hurt. You'd complain about him but I could always see right through it."

"I'm that transparent?"

"No. I guess after the long university stint, I've learnt the way you tick. Even now."

"Makes sense."

"Glass walls, Ethan. I can see right through them."

"So I _am_ transparent."

"To me. You've changed, though."

"Good."

Will purposefully dodged any eye contact, fixing his vision to a street sign. "What did happen to him? You don't have to say. I think I know. I mean. I worked it out."

"What do you think?"

"I... well, Charlie let it slip and I filled in the blanks from there. I needed assistance with a... stab wound patient. As soon as I said your name, the whole resus just froze over. I felt like I'd missed a joke, but like, a sick joke. Charlie called for Connie instead. I thought he was mad at me, but then I did some digging through the Holby archives."

"Yeah. It's true." Ethan cemented the unspoken with a jerky nod. "He was murdered. 29th of April, 2017. It was in the middle of the night. It rained. Scott Ellison did it."

"I thought they never found out?"

Ethan swallowed back a stiff and unsettlingly familiar feeling in his throat. "They didn't have to. I knew."

Will brushed his shoulder. "Come on. I know what we need."

 _x-x-x-x-x_

That night ended with a ridiculously large bag of salted chips, steaming hot. Will - with permission - raided Ethan's fridge and was bitterly disappointed by the abysmal contents.

"One pickled egg. Half a head of lettuce. Cheese and one tiny milk."

"There's apple juice in the plate cupboard."

"What's it doing in there?"

"I don't know. I let Marty come back here with some date. Guess they thought I needed some groceries or something."

"I must say, I didn't expect this from the impeccably clean Ethan Hardy," Will called, returning with two glass cups of juice. He slumped on the settee beside Ethan. Cal's seat. He didn't know that, of course. "Most people settle with a weekly deep clean of the house. You? Absolutely not."

"Alright, I'll admit, I let it get out of control," he sipped the juice. It was somewhat acidic but not as far to be undrinkable. "There didn't seem to be much choice. I'm never home."

"You ever considered downgrading? It's a big place for one."

"I don't fancy the effort."

Will's eyes dragged over to a particular closed door. "Must've been hard to clean that room out."

Quiet swept over them. An unspoken understanding.

"I get it. It's alright."

"He worked hard to afford a lot of that. I couldn't just... I can't, I mean... packing it all up, it feels-"

"You don't have to justify yourself to me."

They drink apple juice soberly.

"This does remind me of those days, though."

"What, university? You always were nostalgic, Will."

"Grass is greener, huh? And just think, we couldn't wait to grow up. Look what was waiting for us."

Ethan regarded him with typical concern. "Holby isn't treating you well?"

"No, no. It is. I find myself complaining a lot. This place feels like a home, despite how hard it can be to get along. The amount of impossible decisions flooding in daily. I get why you'd never want to leave."

"I never said that."

"You don't have to."

"Guess not."

"You'd never consider moving along? Start afresh at a new hospital?"

"Leaving Holby would mean leaving a lot of memories. People. I've got almost negative family left. Charlie, Connie, Robyn... people like that, I couldn't think of leaving them behind. Too much history."

"It must've been a clash of lifetimes when I crashed in. Two different lives colliding - pre-Holby, and Holby. There's a clear line there, isn't there?"

"One hundred per cent. It's a divide."

Will looked about the place. "You did alright, you know. This flat. I could be seeing it from a pretty easily-impressed perspective though, I am comparing it to hotel rooms and box rooms."

"You've not found a place to settle yet? Will..."

" _I don't fancy the effort,_ " Will mimicked.

Ethan smiled, feeling all sorts of nostalgia in his system. "If you ever need a place to crash... you know exactly where I am."

"I'll keep that firmly in mind. Thank you, Ethan."

* * *

 _The End_

* * *

 _ **bronny9:** you're so welcome! i just apologise for how long it took me to write it, i had a lot going on and am so grateful for your understanding :D_

 _ **LauraCasualty:** wow this is such a lovely comment to receive! it really brightened up my day, thank you hugely. i've pm-ed (or am going to straight after posting this) you regarding your request. thank you for your review and support!_

 _ **20BlueRoses:** ayy thank you. couldn't help but keep them familiar to who we know - the casualty writers haven't always been PERFECT but they DID sculpt out two amazing characters that i'll always find inspiration from when writing original fiction. gotta love that brotherly love. thank you for your review and ongoing support!_

 _ **InfinityAndOne:** dude this is such a sweet review oh my god. and this is so Relatable, but i didn't even mean to do the cal-perspective-thing and looking back, that was a good writing decision i didn't intend to make bahahhhah. knew you'd appreciate the jacob/ethan in there ;D thank you lots and lots for your review!_


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